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Clave
Yes, that groove tells much to all
that hear.
Far "Africk", captive, yet free,
sent cross the seas such rhythms that
stirred great music for a world
that still doubts black genius.
Polyrhythmic sounds,
beats that are heard beyond
the range, breadth, heart, soul,
of the sad middle passage,
forbidden a drum, preserved with
a tapping foot, a stick and a floor,
an acapella song.
Each beat calling back a life lost,
a heart stopped,
in a three century diaspora,
You can't forgive the blood shed,
pain caused,
yet all move in awe
at the drum heads
perpetual testimony.
Copyright ©
Ahellas Alixopulos
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