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Do You Hear It by Harold D. Smith
please excuse me for getting
this off my chest..
but i must ask
do you hear it?
the voices of the motherland
of the home
i can never return to
stripped from me
in the cataclysm of ethnic cleansing
called
assimilation
 do
you hear it?
sometimes muffled
but unmistakable
sometimes loud
but gently nudging
sometimes acidic
but soothing
as it is
searing into the
consciousness
of a people
a lost people
a lonely people
my people
do you hear it?
rumbling like some
primitive beast
raging and foaming
tearing asunder
ripping a path
do you hear?
the duke heard it..
and because he heard it
he
was accused
of making
jungle music
and miles
was called hateful
and
they never understood
coltrane
but i love
to listen to
cassandra wilson
sing
strange fruit
i think i hear it
do you?
do you hear it?
the clanking of shackles
and sounds of saltwater
slushing against the rotting
slave ship
muting the screams
of
the child raped by the
captors
(now i know why my brother's skin is darker than
mine)
and the silent resignation
of
the father castrated and
thrown overboard
simply because
he fought for her honor
an example
he became
that reverberates throughout
eternity
keeping the masses in bondage
do
you hear it?
in every gunshot
and every wail
of the mother burying her
teenage son
and the sound
of mama till's pain
mingled with
coretta's grief
and betty shabazz's
loneliness
i hear it
coming from the horn
the tribal horn
that floats above the bass
and descends into the drum
around the saxophone
like a wisp of smoke
creeping up the the
microphone stand
out the speakers
and into my ears
and into
my consciousness
i hear it
the pain
the agony
the faces of the gods
etched in soft congo wood
and the tears of
fertility dolls
drowning
in an european sea
i hear it
i hear it
i hear it
do you?
copyright 2007 by harold d.
smith
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