For Kamau Brathwaite
Royston Emmanuel
I cry for you Charleston
and I’m angry too
at those who say that
race is just a thing
and congregate around
the broken lives and sing
ballads of deliverance
while they await their chariot
for the river crossing –
like days of old
when the whip broke
our resolve, and the lynch
mobs danced around the fired
cross, when we prayed
for mercy though we had
done nothing wrong, except
our colour wasn’t good
enough.
I cry for you Haiti
as you go back knowing
that there is nothing there,
as you cross over
a century to pick up
the rubble of the shaken earth
and step cautiously over
the broken dreams
of independence,
into another
exile.
I cry for you Darfur
Mali, Borno, Maiduguri.
I cry for the forgotten
places where darkness always
turns upon each other,
where death is a routine
to simply get over
because time is just
enough to survive, not
to think about the camps,
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TCW