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Sonnet
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Quadroon
An African journey through Hawaii, Haiti, a detour north
settling in between the extreme, where summers are hot
and winters are bearable.
In a country old that has an Arabic tone in the tonal voice.
Her epidermis is almond milk drunk before a spring’s dawn
with the mystic of the exotic.
Even slow her movement, a rush was not her concern
but her eyes, dark brown tiger eyes, told of passion set free
Healthy, her black hair shone brightly in nights of love.
She is old now, her hair still black, her eyes not dimmed by age
handles her walking rattans with customary stylishness
Time has been kind to her as she lives on and on.
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Details |
Free verse
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Bangs… shots of memories past
Take me back to where I was…
The barbed wire walls,
The plank beds
The grenades fall.
My eyes were wide open
Like a lost deer separated from the herd.
The smoke clouding my eyes,
Even the wisdom of the elders failed;
Garlic would not ward off
The sting grenades.
Rattans banging, bludgeons banging,
My chest dense with smoke
For the fire consumed the silhouette against the blackened sky.
My eyes were wide open
To see through the cloud of tears,
The flagging sign: SOS freedom.
Cardboard strewn,
Hearts wounded and lost
Like lights just turned off.
The ears ring, zinging
From the bangs.
My eyes were wide open…
Now, against the blackened sky
Shots of memories from years past:
The grenade, the rattan, and the bludgeon.
I still see the fire ablaze
and my heart bangs
For the crickets chirping,
For the ribbits echoing,
For the night birds singing,
For the pond to cradle me,
For the boundless grass,
For my silhouette forever burns
In the night full of freedom.
November 16, 2020
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