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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required (Apropos of Black Poetic Griots) We may not be deemed apostolic recorders But we poets, guided with divine wisdom, are The lay scribes thereof in the chronicling of Our life’s sojourn in the shadowing times we spend here on this parcel of what is An example of planetary creation; And we Poet-Griots who are of the hue of what was Before it was declared, “…Let there be light…” are Bound by sacred conscience to ensure that there Be no doubt, shadowing, or omission of the Identity and reality of whose, who, or what Is rhythmically, metaphorically, and allegorically Scribed and mirrored in the reality we artfully canvas. Indeed, in our varied Griot-poetic renderings, We are sacredly bound to ensure that the clipped links In chained psalms of ourstory are reinserted and paralleled Equally with those which are of history; indeed we are sacredly And spiritually impregnated to give birth to the tell-trail truth of the rape Of the womb of our Genesis and the abduction of its Middle Passage Children and their trials and tribulations which led to our Exodus From the shadowed valley of death of institutionalized slavery:- Yes, we must score the melodic word symphonies of ourstory’s Modern-day biblical-like experiences of fiery furnaces, lion den Encounters, ladder Climbing Challenges, Babylonian times, Noah-like Sailing and moorings, and bush burnings. Indeed, for the sake of modern- Day generations of parents and their children, we must melodiously—with African-base rhythmic beats raise staccato awareness of our sacred African Kingdoms and Empires that gave rise to great civilizations; and in doing so, we must nobly unveil the sacred presence and truth of our African royalty. Indeed, we Poet-Griots must be lay apostolic scribes of easy past And present messaging; unveiling their divine wisdom, guidance, And spiritual inspirations enabling us to conjure up biblical hope And faith rooted in our womb identity of a culture that cannot Be denied its role in the chronicling of humankind’s sojourn; Taking our clue from Diakhate, we must not be welled into being nostalgic with the past but with the winding-up Of the bucket of ourstorical perspective; leaving the So-called exotic to the thrashers—seeking relief:- Therefore, stomping cautiously along the erratic cadences Of slave-based racism and its quarter note overtones, let us Groove from one oppressive barred beat to another; scoring Our freedom’s sojourn filled with negative rest stops designed To decrescendo wailing staccato rhythmic screams of jazz-blues And hip-hop loud echoed notes with defiant metered sound. Bypassing silent apathetic rest stops with the crescendo of Rumbling faith and the audacious melody of hope, let renewed Blooming sounds of liberation—voided of waning half note—burst Into resounding whole notes of modulated determination of a never Ending symphony of emancipation conducted by the Cosmic Director Demanding repeated melodic notes of ultrasonic pulsing echoers heard Throughout the worldly concert hall built upon life’s foundation of liberty.
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