Harmony 69 1st Movement

HARMONY 69 The night of twelfth December `69 knotted together an icy storm wind that whipped False bay`s waves to white -frilled blankets. Thunderclaps against primal rocks resonated through a ghettoe of glowing tents on a dark, rough ,bushy patch . Rising plaintively above the din of drums and flapping canvas, creole strains solicited the capricious gods for a clement Cape . Love songs , sweet like wine would even tittilated mermaid`s melons, stranding them breathless, with tails scaled. In my sixteenth tempestuous year, I was sickened and sullied, spoiling for a fight with that ever- prying, ever-lying police-state denying us dividing us deriding us ripping us whipping us in an all-pervasive racist propaganda storm Harmony,was forced ethnic relocation right there in a stamp-size sea-resort next to a stinking dump. Our yearly anticipated salty baptism, fouled for a full ten years, dunked in fascist soil of a false bay with a real bite…. rubbing coarse salt in our opened wounds Rubbing it in the flayed William, my sire, of the black turf belly Rubbing it in the lashed Maxie , my ma , of white-on-black graft Rubbing it in the spurred Dot Adams, my oracle , of the pearled-truth tongue imprisoned to a silent ninety-day solitary confinement. . Yes, a full two hundred scar-studded waxes avidly saluting the wretched who rose in revolution drowning exploiters in the oppressed`s precious blood Algeria whilst raped,unveiling herself, firing fear into bared French fascism exploding the myth of a benevolent colonialism. “Lumumba will guide the Kongo to freedom” grandpa agitated hopefully as revolutionary Patrice, our dark prince of peace died on the bloodied butts of neo-colonial carbines. My seven-year heart burst in anger and pain. A companiable heart`s balance tilted with unease at justice , unhinged. the periodic uprisings of people in far-flung regions against the arrogance of anglo-saxon imperialism salted my youth with the tears of broken children, their blood ever spattering my angry brow.