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Poem

Martinique is in our history too
Not just in our blood
Because Josephine seduced him
To make us reap more bitterness
From the ferment of the sugarcane
Martinique was also his home
His native shore
Long before Paris
It was his Algerian door
But why should I tell you this
For it is chronicled
In us who wear
A black mask
Over a white skin that do not appear
In the mirror of your soul
He could see beyond
The root of our insanity
Even when we were invisible
Not just to the whip cracker
Boot licker
Heartbreaker
Drum maker
Truce taker
This was our genius
Our noble gift to the barren world

Where shall I start over
My history, my image
I defended so long until I was washed in the night
And my bright brother does not see the carnage
Except Fanon tell them again
That in this polarized man
Are poles more wretched
And we wretched of the earth
Can hope now
For what? 
Steve Biko knew what direction the sun
Come crawling on the sky like a maggot
Biting in the apple of the eye.
There is so much frenzy in a storm
Death brings peace
The only peace we get for free
The one we never desire
Sometimes I wish I knew
How to turn the sun into fire
And cleanse the earth of me
As an image in another mind
But where would I get
Another mind to know
The litany of our regret.

We all have a Morocco dilemma
We are wounded there deeply
Like he was
What world is this they founded for us
This third marginalized
This obfuscation of reality
How shall we find in this
Another identity for a new begining
What woman is there
That will cease dancing with her shadow
And love me for the hope I am
For the absolutely beautiful reason
That I dream of death
Impaled like a fish
Gasping on the sand of his flesh

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