Forty Acres and a Mule

Air Fight (The Sword, the Word)

20 Then, their devil wished them well – with a smile! Today, these villagers of the city Their wounds for a meal lick Their teary fate they explain in hushed tones Did Osagyefo, at the market square Drum, gong, horn and more Not counsel and foretell? In the deluge of their bloody tears Even their scorched rivers overflow Note: Osagyefo – (‘redeemer’) honorific title bestowed on Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana’s first president, whose plea for an African political federation remains unheeded Air Fight (The Sword, the Word) In anger Fingers, arms and hands are raised Invisible yet real The harvest of a seed From across seven seas Planted, denied nurturing Seventy times seven times over Corked in fine metal The harvest The rage of youth trapped up in the air 21 With arms, hands – and hoods To a rhythm of unmasked intensity A weapon masked A force raw, real and potent An enemy raw, real and potent ‘T’is the Word against the Sword Air fight Body, Mind and Soul The Word versus the sword 1992 Year of salvation, year of damnation Our hats to Columbus And his gift of a new world After centuries of self-slaughtering Today in one boat themselves do find In your Victory lap minions carry your bag Five hundred years after and the transatlantic nightmare The Others, waiting to exhale Forward and together, the one marches Backward and alone, the other staggers Unfinished still the odes to ‘sovereignty’ The serf mentality, the baggage Of these crabs in a bowl Dry harvests, to boot ...