I sometimes imagine
sailing on a blue sailboat
southward along Africa
an albatross soaring above my head
the scent of cloves and vanilla in the air...
as I am approaching the shores
of legendary Zanzibar
I suddenly awaken painfully…
still it’s wonderful to dream
with eyes wide open
Can you hear it?
The rhythms beating,
pulsing upon the ground
boots trampling dirt as
they march towards war.
Can you feel it?
The innocents cry for blood
bloodlust for the enemy thrumming
in each and every chest
as they shout for war!
Do you fear it?
Watching your father march
to the rhythms of his comrades
with no time for a goodbye
while your mother holds you
back against the rhythms
drawing you towards the sword.
Do you miss it?
The thrum of violence
Beating wildly upon
Your chest. The pulse
of drums now a whisper
replaced by the distant screams
of the damned.
Every drum beat being a message
Tribal togetherness in strength
The beat goes on
Dancing to the Ancestors who came before
Showing the way
Tribal accent
The sun shining its ultimate brightness
Keeping the darkness of foes out
Tribal Legends from the past
Being Tribal lessons through the years
The drums are beating loud and strong
Evil can’t touch nor take away
Intertwined in the tribal spirit
Merit in soulful
The rise in pride and honor of Navarone
Walking through the solid ground of courage
Tribal dancing in continuous hope
The embrace of tribal love
Distance back then seemed far
Ancestry dignity follow
Destiny within the tribal hearts
Hearts to hearts being determined together
Navarone strength in unity
They stand for the ancestors who set the course for Navarone
Indian rustic values
Navarone will always rise
The culture validated for life
Tribal truth
For generations to come
Drums will continue to beat
Will never give in into defeat
Dances are our true souls and destiny our holy feet
The Moon that parallels, and the stars that gather, Navarone now and forever more.
Santa loading his bags with all the toys.
He had pleas from parents of girls and boys;
No drums, guns of any kind,
No loud games if you dont mind,
In fact nothing at all that makes a noise!
Verse 1
Epitaph for the Queen of the Night
A starlit siren, she shone so strongly bright,
The radiant, raving ruler of the night's riot
right.
Her dance a dream, her dress a diamond
delight,
Now silence seals the stage, the spotlight
still so slight.
The final fade, the curtain closes calmly,
clear,
Her music memory,missed moment, mist
most marvelous here.
Verse 2
Epitaph for the Dance Master
The king of the tounship (1) , a crazy champion came,
A body bent to beating drums, a legend's
lasting lame.
He spanned the shebeen stage, a shining
storm of movement mean,
Shebeen queens quaked and wept at the
dancing scene.
The beauties bleeding blushes, threw their
threads,
He leaped from tables,laid problems to
peaceful deads.
His rhythm's a ripple on the river.forever
flowing free.
The dance just disperses,but his beat
belongs to the ground and the sky.
1. Tounship--township,location, slum, ghetto,
In my dream I see my brother
canoeing down the rapids
the moon behind him
blazing a trail
his heart beating
to the rhythm of drums
and the roar of bubbling waters
native blood runs through his veins
AP: 2nd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2026
Tempo Distinction
Energized skies
Enterprising praise
Descend in the stature
Rhythm of the wise
Beat by beat
Legacy retreat
Dancing in bare feet
Warmth from the sun
Survival honor
Native land tongue
Ancestry spiritual rejoice
Heaven’s delight
Inspiring breezes
Breed of value
Slave once never again
Strength and Endurance
Drum beat
African pride
Spiritual uplift.
Silently,while soft rain drums on zinc in sorrowed streets,
My soul kneels where she once stood,my gal, my need,my nevermore.
crying droplets chant in syllables of her smile-sweet, small,
Silvered syllables sipping across haze and humiliation.
Her mother-a Mount Olympus of ten thousand frustrations-
mouths malice in midday markets,
sparking sparks of spite,her words whipping like wet rope.
Her uncle,a dog trainer with a dog chain in his hand,a dog's dark echo,
unchains his hate,barking at the boy he thinks too poor to dream.
I still see her ebony eyes in puddles, trembling,
telling tales of thunder,
''my township Romeo From Another Earth And Sky, ''they breathe,
be brave-Ill come back from another earth and sky
not this world of man''
But love is leashed to their lies
and the leash tears her heart before she can run.
Now I rap my requiem-
rhymes for rain,rhythm for regret,
Heartbeats hammered into-half remembered hope.
She died of a broken vow-not hers,
but the world of a world that kills its kindest loves.
Rain don't remember her name,
but I do-every drop spells my gal.
Soft syllables,same sorrow,same song,
for the gals the gods forgot to guard.
The war drums roared,
the combat declared.
The roar of India’s lions
now enemy’s nightmare.
It is not about borders,
but our nation’s pride.
Son of the soil fierce and wide,
forges ahead with pride,
with the flag in their heart and the nation as their guide.
They came here with unholy blood,
We would answer with thunder,
each shot a promise, no mercy, no pause.
The eyes dared to look at my Mother
shall regret the day.
Our silence is broken- hear Jai Hind thunder wide.
Each heart a battlefield, each breath a reply.
©Chitra Arun
the only one who plays Joe’s drum is the dog
His tail bangs into it as hard as a stiff log
He plays it on the way out, he plays it on the way in
Bang goes that drum, this dog is not thin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
out of the blue, a figure appears
a relic of the past, an old drummer, worn and gray
old drummer's heart still full of fire
his hands, still nimble, find their way
the park's stillness shattered by sound
as his drums and cymbals awaken
he beats and pounds, his passion pours
the music flows from his soul
park's inhabitants gather ‘round,
a curious throng entranced by his wild, rhythmic song
the rhythm weaves a spell, a hypnotic trance
the old drummer's music, a moment’s magic
his drums transports, transforms, and transcends,
a bridge spanning his years
connecting past and present, his laughter, sorrow, and tears
in this fleeting instant, his world is set right
he finishes, his drums grow still
the park is silent, but music remains
a lingering echo, old drummer's regrets and soulful refrains
Tho' right-handed
instruments the two do play
yet one is downside up
left-handed musicians both are they
or seem to sup
from a similar southpaw cup
and if you follow the trail of crumbs
they lead to Jimi
the Starr of guitar
and stick to Ringo
the Hendrix of drums
Ancestral
Celestial
Grand Rising high
A journey so questrial
Elevate
Motivate
A divine connection
Between spiritual and creative realms
A spark
A flame
A birth right
A name
Wild free untamed
Authentic
Unchained
Poetic drums are my native language
We know each other so well
A colonizer could not change it
An oppressor could not enslave it
For me and my poetic drum are one
Grand rising
Melanin thriving under the divine shining of the sun
Randolph Peter Best
thought he was a better drummer than all the rest
but his new band wouldn’t put up with such malarky
and he was soon replaced by Richard Starkey
*For those who don't know-Richard Starkey is aka Ringo Starr*
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