Prelude

"Riddle of The Diaspora"

"In the twilight of a noble try
Dreams and old gods finally die— 
But, death is a shadow, tho' the image is strong,
They merely writhe in limbo 'till Fate's final song
—And ever upon that last sad dirge,
Young mortals with new dreams will emerge."


Afrika's Diasporic Flight 

(Evening)

Before history became dim, began a "Sankofa" story
That harks back to an age of resplendent glory.
Brilliant constellations crowned the celestial dome,
When Mankind was weaned in its original home.
Beneath Afrika's stars, near the rifts and waters,
My Mother bore Kings and Queenly daughters!

Strong people, good people, Afrikans, all,
Walking erect while the young world did crawl.
Unknot the enigma of this family, sublime,
That raised great cities in that wondrous time.

Builders, mighty and masterful, in civilized style,
Setting temples and pyramids in sight of the Nile.
They mapped the heavens on precise star charts,
While roving the Earth, with God in their hearts.

But, as the children stood in stature and fame,
They idolized the flesh, denying the Great Name.
Then the twilight skies grew ominous and stormy,
For, the Word had spoken, "No deities before Me".

The old accounts ring true, this Griot, discovered,
Pyramids were flooded; the Sphinx was covered;
Gold was lost in sand and savanna grasses.
Alas, Nadir, descended on the Afrikan Masses.

(Nadir)

In a Phantom ship's belly, the Heavens are gone,
Paradise succumbs as the slavers race-on
To found a new nation at unspeakable cost;
A Mother ravaged, and her children lost.
How hollow the ideals—only nebulous—tho' grand;
How sacred the life that bleeds into the land.

Scattered people, smitten people, enslaved people, all 
Bearing the burdens as conspirators did crawl,
And mocked and derided this nation once revered
Till chattelhood attached and humanity disappeared.

Builders, mighty, that toiled for the masters' ambition,
Have earned the heritage conferred via tradition. 
Yet, wine for the slavers, and gall for the slaves,
To toast the New World built on both graves.

Ignored in the annals of the towering young nation
Are the old "Living Stones" that make the foundation;
Deemed cast-off possessions, never to be paid,
Across the very grain of Freedom, a great lie was laid!

But, the pealing of the Liberty Bell by all is heard;
Into The Melting Pot, the old culture was stirred.
Though hammered in the forge and crafted by lies,
A new dawn for true patriots by Grace will arise.

(Morning)

In the fullness of time, day succeeds night,
That which was hidden now comes into sight.
Brilliant like the sunrise that heralds a new age,
The resilient Diaspora write history a new page,
From stately World Leaders to "Winning the Gold," 
They manifest characteristics of the builders of old.

Joyful people, blessed people, hopeful people, all,
Striding erect while the deceivers do crawl,
And, again are amazed at these citizens, sublime,
That dominated the Earth in that bygone time.

Builders, mighty and masterful, in civilized style,
That built temples and pyramids in sight of the Nile.
From Sudan to Giza—through the Valley of Kings,
Knowledge lights the truth of all these things.

So, there is no longer a mystery that Ebony faces,
Are emblazoned on stone in very ancient places.
The time has come! We no more atone,
But, steadfastly reflect the primordial throne.

Throughout America, and beyond the shore,
Afrika's diasporic progeny climb once more.
Traversing the odyssey as surely they can,
Holding high standards before the races of Man.

End of work