THIS POEM

This poem shall speak of the wretched sea that washed it to these shores, of mothers crying for their youngs swallowed up by the sea.

This poem shall say nothing new. This poem shall speak of time, time unlimited, time undefined.

This poem shall call names, names like Lumumba, Kenyatta, Nkrumah, Hannibal, Ackerson, Malcolm, Garvey, Haile Selassie.

This poem is vex about apartheid, racism, fascism, the Ku Klux Klan, riots in Brixton, Atlanta, Jim Jones.

This poem is revolting against first world, second world, third world division; manmade decision.

This poem is like all the rest.

This poem will not be amongst great literary works, it will not be recited by poetry enthusiasts. It will not be quoted by politicians or men of religion.

This poem is knives, bombs, guns, blood, fire blazing for freedom.

Yes, this poem is a drum, Ashanti, Mau-Mau, Ibo, Yoruba, Nayabingi warriors.

Uhuru, uhuru, Namibia, uhuru,

Uhuru Soweto, uhuru Africa.

This poem will not change things.

This poem needs to be changed.

This poem is a rebirth of a people arising, awaking, understanding.

This poem speaks, is speaking, has spoken.

This poem shall continue even when poets have stopped writing.

This poem shall survive you, me; it shall linger in history, in your mind, in time, forever.

This poem is time, only time will tell.

This poem is still not written.

This poem has no poet.

This poem is just part of the story, his story, her story, our story, the story still untold. This poem is now ringing, talking, irritating, making you want to stop it. But this poem will not stop.

This poem is long, cannot be short.

This poem cannot be tamed, cannot be blamed. The story is still not told about this poem.

This poem is old, new.

This poem was copied from the Bible, your prayer book, playboy magazines, New York Times, Reader's Digest, CIA files, KGB files.

This poem is no secret.

This poem shall be called boring, stupid, senseless.

This poem is watching you trying to make sense from this poem.

This poem is messing up your brains; making you want to stop listening to this poem. But you shall not stop listening to this poem. You need to know what will be said next in this poem.

This poem shall disappoint you because this poem is to be continued in your mind…

Mutabaruka,

The mystery unfolds, 1987