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Willard Pomare-Escalona Poem
Is freedom given? Is freedom taken?
Should San Andres sit, sit like the beggar?
Beg for freedom, beg to get better,
Or defy the oppressor, and our soul deliver.
Take your freedom, take it now!
For only beggars have no choice,
But we not beggars, we not dumb,
Take your freedom, take it now.
Take your freedom, it will be rough,
Speak it , walk it, sing it loud,
At freedom table, sit and chow,
Take your freedom, make it known.
Take your freedom, take it now!
With prison jail, chain and bars,
Just but few steps, from freedom hall,
Take your freedom, take it all.
Take your freedom, take it all!
Some may say, we will not thrive,
The sea the land blessed, God will provide,
Take your freedom, take it boy!
Take your freedom, take your land!
No more the oppressor, chain our hands,
Nicaragua or Colombia, none we want,
Take your freedom, take it man.
If take not freedom, but candy bars,
Come with offers, low wages brought,
And lies repeated, believe them all,
You’re still slave minded, get freedom y’all.
Take your freedom, and life preserve,
Endure the hardship, with death sentence roam,
Like great Mandela, in South Africa endured,
Take your freedom, free those who’ll come.
Take your freedom, from oppressors hand,
Nicaragua Colombia, distress our land,
Are both slave drivers, from Spain they learned,
Take your freedom, it’s God’s command.
Copyright © Willard Pomare-Escalona | Year Posted 2013
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Willard Pomare-Escalona Poem
The Three Islands Sleep!
Sleep, sleep, the islands asleep!
Sleep while the winds blow on her face,
On her trees, and on her mountains and hills,
Sleep when the thieves dressed in suit come in,
Like the befuddled man sleeps in his own vomit,
Or like the overworked farmer, who in his bed creeps.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep with unclosed eyes, like he who can’t sleep,
Sleeps to the sound of alarm, the fight for her life, and her sea,
Sleeps, when the red crimson blood from her vain shed,
Like anesthesia in flesh, make it numb, feel no pain,
Or like the brain hypnotized, would not think for itself.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep when the foreigners come, move her out of her bed,
From the kitchen, living room, on the trees she sojourns,
Sleeps, though her offspring bewail, for some bread and a rest,
For schoolmasters that left, with no school nor recess,
And the peril and risk that play daily on the streets.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep, the three of them sleep, when they empower the fiendish,
To keep the ball rolling, the robbing and defrauding,
When the ballots that are twisted, in their hands feel no different,
Sleep when the liars can lead them, but the truth doesn't reach them,
Or when death sentence upon them, they hear, neither see their grave ending.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sleep!
Sleep when the corrupt one comes, with false hope to promote,
Like better jobs, new buildings, profuse gifts are given,
Sleeps like the reefs and the cays in the deep,
When the hurricane sweeps, still they all in deep sleep.
Sleep! Sleep! The islands sound a sleep!
Sleep! Sleep! The three of them sleep, when rain water falls and seeps,
Seeps through their pores, deep down in their souls water leaks,
With thorns, wild trees and tall bush growing from underneath,
The Cassava, plantain, watermelon, sweet potato, food produced choked and killed,
Like invaders our land destroy, but we sit and daydream, since our islands sound asleep.
Sleep! Sleep! The three islands asleep!
Copyright © Willard Pomare-Escalona | Year Posted 2018
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