Inspired by Hamid Drake,
drummer/percussionist

Oh what we so. . .
long    for
and
want-to-say
Our tongues wrapped
 strapped
now breathe

the drums, the drums
Senegal’s     Dou Dou
Jamaica’s Claude*

this man Hamid
many spirits within him
I listen to him and I am
not alone

I see   I hear    I feel
my soul
It is hot
It is cold
It is raining flames 
spring fires descend

Sliver through my body’s
flesh
Ripple along my rage’s cage
Lure my anger’s guardian
to stand for memories not mine

Souls I do not know
pillow my head
Wild spirits realm
They want to be known 
I’m shy
They want to be heard
I hate to talk

Diviners  go in music
ain’t no seeing symbol
to hold all these faces
I don’t play drums
I hear them
I don’t know notes
I feel them
I can’t tell you a title
But I know tales

The drums, the drums
Run to the other side
Til the other side say come
home

My home too far away 
from my mind

My spirit knows it
like a baby knows 
its mother’s scent
but I’m 
but I’m
but I’m
searching years. . .
And still I’m lost

I learn languages
from foreign languages
already inside me

I can’t sleep at night
lines in their feet 
dance before they dance

I seen ‘em in the Baule figures
Ain’t gon’ lie
heard ‘em in Senegal’s drums
Talkin’   comin’    tellin’ they comin’
Tell them we are coming
Tell them we are strong 

Lay to rest you
Lay to rest!
I ain’t tellin’!

Did you hear Hamid
She did
She a shy one
Her waist spines in the chair
Her lips juicy     lusts
Salivated eyes reaching
Naw  baby     don’t reach for ‘em  

As she gives her arms to the table
And her breasts slide on top
Her head    intoxicated
Fisting hands brace the table

They smell her
Open her legs and blow inside
Open her dreams  to expose visions
She won’t know what’s real
But she’ll feel it
She feels it
I see ‘em gathering around her

She a shy one

They take you whenever they want
vessels
They need vessels
They smell ‘em

Tears crawling down her sad face
as Hamid ends

We want it don’t we
What they do to us
What they show us

But what they want I just. . .
I just couldn’t set free

They kill folks like us
I don’t wanna die
I tell the dead living in me
But they spirits alive
and in the need  of vessels

what we so. . .
long    for
and
want-to-say
Our tongues wrapped
 strapped     breathe

- a Butterfly’s opinion -


* Claude McKay