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Bittersweet Journey
Nine years a stranger in a strange land
travelling to my island in the sun.
A native son returning a native strand
where the journey had all begun
And I by the grace of God survived
the thrust and roar of engines loud.
Upon BeeWee silver wings we dived
into that misty archipelago cloud
Piarco tarmac lights on plains below
soon upon the trail of Queen's Park.
Charting the maps of time long ago -
was late and the boulevard was dark
The banyan trees, the rustling palms,
glow of that bright calypso moon.
To my soul a succour its island balms
and cool sea breezes a gentle boon
Down the Churchill-Roosevelt to the sea
and Beetham Highway shanties go by.
But was Port of Spain's restless quay
that conspired to grab my roving eye
Fishing boats and cargo ships berth
her clamourous city docks and pier.
The Gulf of Paria's sleepy channel firth,
and look...it's Independence Square
Upon the corner of Sweet Briar and Gray
where as a boy I played in the rain.
Waking by carol song on Christmas Day,
and hearken Greyfriar's sweet refrain
Memories flood eyes and ears and soul
to see again the hills of Diego Martin.
Where on the big screen in days of old
I saw movies at the Starlite Drive-in
See ancient Savannah parched and bare
tormented by dry season's hot sun.
Yonder hazy hilltop ridges no better fare
but soon the rains in deluge come
Over blustery Northern Straits we flew
to Buccoo Reef and Nylon Pool coral.
Tobago's Crusoe shores came to view
with her verdant hills rich and floral
Upon the Coast Road to Maracas bay
drinking a fool's fill by the fire's flame.
But I was seventeen almost to the day
and at seventeen I was always game
I met a lass whose eyes through me tore,
more lovely than words can convey.
Beauty I've not known since or before -
I'd like to remember her this way
Fondly I gazed the dormant Oval grounds,
rapturous but for a short lived respite.
At my window did roar out the sounds
of steelband and parang in the night
With February upon us quickly I fear
Carnival's sleeping tribes awakened.
I had no costume, no robes to wear
yet my burning spirit was unshaken
Soon on Jouvay morn at break of light
spilled the hordes out of Sparrow's tent.
Revellers in the streets day and night
till Las Lap, Ash Wednesday and Lent
But our time here had drawn to an end
and leaving again bittersweet to me.
Saddened alas, but my heart did mend
for what once was can again never be!
Written: May 1992
Copyright ©
Keith D Trestrail
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