Gone are the days
when every man and woman was royalty
Spirited away
when the slave catchers came
Fled are the nights
when every child dreamed of
being called a prophetess or priest
Washed away
when the long ships crashed upon the reef
The corrupt council and judges
hid in the rainforest that day
When they sold us out to be slaves
It seems those days ain’t changed since;
Judas faces put on cloth by silkscreen print,
splashed on canvas by painter’s ink
And I wonder ...
what would my ancestors think?
Asking myself why ...
this scattered people possess no common aim or purpose
Bemoan, I cry ...
seeing the children wander idly
And I ponder ...
what do they dream to be?
Categories:
silkscreen, slavery, spiritual, truth, wisdom,
Form: Dramatic Monologue