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Poem

If ever there was an icon of the culture it is you
I saw gerrehbenta again tonight
I remember all other
Pieces of me woven into a movement
From all the movements upon the stage.
You have crossed some rivers
Coming here, did you not
Ah but the power of kumina
That cause buckra to abandon
His fortune in us
That made us supple for the pass.
Sweet in the morning I hear the spirit cry
The drumscore loud as a beating heart.
Sulkari, Sulkari
There is an urban fissure
Where the legend of Rex has graced.
But you will hold the candle to the face
Of night, and let us see new stars
That he said were us a rudderless race
If we cease to believe
The conflict is gut and sinews bleeding.
This culture must extricate us
Mind, body, and soul
Tear down the obscurity of our genius
And command the stage alone
With open arms 
As examples of love, as burnt offerings
Of forgiveness.
You are the candle dancing in the storm
The white wax ebbs away
And the fire is unmiistakeably our voice today.

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