Poetry of the Kuba People

The Kuba Kingdom is a pre-colonial Central African kingdom that existed in what is now the Democratic Republic of Congo (formerly Zaire). This kingdom was formed when the Kuba people from northern regions of Africa migrated to the area bordered by the Sankuru, Lulua and Kasai rivers in the 1600's. There they integrated with the many tribes already living in the region and formed a thriving multicultural kingdom. The Kuba brought with them an organized social and political structure which helped them gain power in the region and build a thriving kingdom that lasted for over 270 years (1625 to 1900). The kingdom included about 20 distinct tribes, each of which had a representative that participated in the governing of the kingdom.

The Kuba oral tradition is so accurate that when measured against Western estimates of how long the kingdom had been in existence the dates were spot on. The Kuba people still live in the southeastern part of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

The following is a poem of the Kuba people.

~Death~

There is no needle without a piercing point.

There is no razor without trenchant blade.

Death comes to us in many forms.

With our feet we walk the goat's earth.

With our hands we touch God's sky.

Some future day in the heat of noon,

I shall be carried shoulder high

through the village of the dead.

When I die, don't bury me under forest trees,

I fear their thorns.

When I die, don't bury me under forest trees,

I fear the dripping water.

Bury me under the great shade trees in the market,

I want to hear the drums beating

I want to feel the dancers' feet.

Sources:

Humanities in the Ancient and Pre-Modern World: Wendel P. Jackson (General Editor)

History of the Kuba Kingdom: University of Kansas: http://bit.ly/oZbPyi

Kuba: Encyclopedia Britannica: http://bit.ly/o7pYti

Kuba Kingdom: Wikipedia: http://bit.ly/pUHIET

Photo by Kelene Blake: Display of African Masks including two Kuba Masks (lower left and center)

Poetry of the Akan People

The art and literature of a people is an important part of their history. African poetry and literature have been obscure for a long time, partly because of the reliance on oral tradition, but mostly because of the disruptive effects of colonialism on culture and education. This month I will be doing a series of posts of beautiful African poetry of ancient and pre-modern times. African poetry speak on a variety of topics such as religion, happiness, family, community, life, death, love, trust... the same things many modern poems are about.

In this post I present two poems from the Akan people. The Akan is an ethnic group found mostly in Ghana and Ivory Coast, but African diaspora world wide are influenced by many of Akan folklore such as Anansi (Caribbean) and Br'er Rabbit (Caribbean, USA) and Akan names are also seen throughout the worldwide diaspora. Some names of Akan origin that I have encountered in Trinidad include Cuffy (Kofi), and Cudjoe (Kojo).

The following are two short poems of the Akan people.

~The Creator~

The path crosses the river;

the river crosses the path.

Which is the elder?

We made the path and found the river;

the river is from long ago,

from the creator of the universe.

~Lament~

Your death has taken me by surprise.

What were your wares

that they sold out so quickly?

When I meet my father, he will hardly recognize me:

He'll find me carrying all I have:

a torn old sleeping mat and a horde of flies.

The night is fast approaching.

The orphan is dying to see its mother.

Sources:

Humanities in the Ancient and Pre-Modern World: Wendel P. Jackson (General Editor)

Akan People: Wikipedia: http://bit.ly/i6WjVL

Coromantee People: Wikipedia: http://bit.ly/pEdGN5

Photo by Kelene Blake

African Universities of the Ancient World

Over the years I’ve heard snippets of “Black radical” talk suggesting that the first Universities were in Africa. Just snippets, enough to make me think, cool maybe there is something more to African history, but not enough to paint me the clear picture I needed to realize the true implications of this fact. I recently was pointed in the right direction of study and finally came across the historical information that these “radicals” were referring to. Here’s the story…

In ancient times many thousands of years B.C.(E.) on the northern part of the continent now called Africa, there was a place called Kemet, which means “the black land,” where dwelt a grand civilization advanced in the knowledge of the spiritual and temporal. This civilization was responsible for vast legacies of art, literature, science, architecture, law and religion. This was the first civilization to house vast libraries and universities called Mystery Schools. Their centers of worship were also centers of knowledge and their priests were professors.

In the same way that today, people worldwide flock to the United States of America, The United Kingdom and Europe to attend the best universities, so the people of the ancient world would flock to Kemet to receive their highly prized education. Herodotus, the Greek historian often referred to as the Father of History, devoted his entire Book II of his masterpiece, The Histories to lauding the achievements and traditions of this magnificent ancient African (he describes them as black) civilization. Of course he used the foreign name for the country, the name that the world has adopted: Egypt.

The Kemetic system of education was the diamond standard of the ancient world. The students were required to study the seven Liberal Arts, develop ten virtues, and dedicate themselves to seven behaviors. The purpose of Kemetic education involved both the spiritual and the practical. It was believed that by practicing the ten virtues and gaining knowledge one would liberate the soul from the confines of the body and become like God. The Kemetic religion was one of rebirth; the soul was imprisoned in the body, attached by ten fetters, and the mastery of the ten virtues as well as the liberal arts would help the soul to break free of its physical confines and end the cycle of rebirth. This is why the subjects were called the “liberal” arts. In addition to the religious importance of studying the Mysteries, as they were called, Kemetic education was meant to produce an educated leadership that would shape the culture and philosophy of society.

The four main principles of the Kemetic education system included the virtues, the liberal arts, the union/principle of opposites and the expectation that students would dedicate their time to particular activities and goals.

The ten virtues that served to prepare the student and guide them through their education were:

1. Control of Thought
2. Control of Action
3. Steadfastness of Purpose
4. Identity with the Spiritual Life or the Higher Ideals
5. Evidence of Having a Mission in Life
6. Evidence of a call to Spiritual Orders of a Priesthood in the Mysteries
7. Freedom from Resentment When Under the Experience of Persecution and Wrong
8. Confidence in the Power of the Master as Teacher
9. Confidence in One’s Own Ability to Learn
10. Readiness or Preparedness for Initiation

Students of the Kemetic Mystery Schools were also required to dedicate their time to the following seven activities:

1. Become a scribe
2. Change (transform) because of new knowledge
3. Conduct independent study to improve one’s self
4. Study nature (natural phenomena)
5. Believe in one supreme creator
6. Unify one’s consciousness with the universe
7. Become like the supreme creator

Students were required to master the seven liberal arts which are very similar to the general studies required by modern universities:

1. Grammar
2. Rhetoric
3. Logic
4. Geometry
5. Arithmetic
6. Harmony/Music
7. Astronomy

Students were also expected to appreciate the philosophy of the union of opposites, the inseparability of opposite forces as represented by concepts such as:

• Negative – positive
• Male – female
• Material – immaterial
• Body – soul
• Love – hate
• Hot – cold
• Wet – dry
• Fire – water
• War – peace

This Kemetic system of education influenced the great minds and civilizations and continue to wield influence even in modern times, although much of their influence has been attributed to other cultures who borrowed freely and without due acknowledgement from the education of Kemet. Some of the students of the Kemetic education system include famous names such as Moses, Plato, Pythagoras and Socrates.

And Moses was learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, and was mighty in words and in deeds. (Acts, 7:22)

From this list one would see the man for whom one of the most well known mathematical formulae is named: Pythagoras Theorem. Now you know who taught Pythagoras maths. Think about it, this is the culture that built the pyramids thousands of years before Pythagoras was born… clearly they knew how to calculate the hypotenuse of a right angled triangle. The philosopher, Socrates, is known for the sage advice “Know thyself.” Socrates also studied in Kemet, and in the very temples where Mysteries were taught were engraved the words, inside and out: “Man, Know thyself.”

History is always written by the victors, however. In this case the victors happened to be the Greek civilization. When Alexander conquered Kemet/Egypt from the ruling Persians he brought with him his teacher Aristotle who knew the value of Kemetic knowledge. Then, there was a Library of Alexandria, often hailed as the most impressive library of all time. Before conquering Kemet the Greeks had nothing close to a library, yet they became the intellectual leaders of the world only upon conquering Kemet, building the Library of Alexandria in this conquered African country. Think about it.

In addition, the modern perception of Egypt is as having a white, Arabic or “diverse” population. Keep in mind, that in the thousands of years B.C.(E.) when Kemet’s civilization was growing, this was an African land with a population that Greek historian Herodotus (circa 484 – 425 B.C./ B.C.E.) described as “black.” Kemet was conquered by the Persians, then the Greeks, thus introducing into the population the “diversity” it currently contains. It would do to remember though, Kemet, the black land, was (and still is) African, their history an African history, and their people an African people.

Sidenote on dates: B.C. = Before Christ is the same time period as B.C.E. = Before Common Era (used for political correctness); A.D. = Anno Domini (meaning Year of Our Lord referring to the birth of Christ) is the same time period as C.E. = Common Era (the politically correct alternative). “circa” means “around” and is used when the exact date is not certain.

Image via the internet: The Sun Temple of Ramses II

Research sources:

• The Histories by Herodotus: http://bit.ly/r0OEoz
• The Ancient Kemetic Roots of Library and Information Science by Itibari M. Zulu: http://bit.ly/gaitCR
• Stolen Legacy by George G.M. James

The Wilderness of the Mind of Man Part 4

“I Am the Garden of Eternal Wisdom.”

Our seeker has not only found the way to the garden, but has gained the wisdom that allows him to be the master of the garden. The wisdom is that there is no easy, quick-fix way of obtaining truth and knowledge. You need to seek truth with a strong heart and seize knowledge with a strong hand, and when you do this you do not reach the garden: you become the garden of wisdom.

This installment of the Wilderness of the Mind of Man story brings to a conclusion my first attempt at giving you a glimpse of one aspect of ancient African history. This story has many lessons and one can draw wisdom from it. There is a lot more African history out there so go look it up. I’ll do my best to post what I find here so that we can look back at a rich heritage as we step forward into the future. Sankofa.

Transcript:

I rose up and plunged into the Pool and drank my fill of the sweet cold water; and strength returned to my body; and clean young flesh reclothed my withered limbs. Then I stood naked on the brink of the Pool, and stretched my arms towards the Sky and the Sun; and I gazed upon the trees and the flowers and the LAND like one new born to earth.

Then my eyes fell upon a vast Pillar that stood by the shores of the Pool, and gleamed like a Mountain of Silver in the light of the Morning Sun. Upon each face of the Pillar were characters graven in the stone; and I approached and scanned them, and these were the words which I read:

On the Face of the Pillar that fronts the Desert I read these words:

Without is the Wilderness of the Mind of Man.

On the Face that fronts the Fertile Land I read:

Here lies the Oasis of Knowledge.

On the Third Face that looks upon the Lake I read:

The Pool of the Waters of Truth.

I looked upon the Fourth Face of the Pillar, but my eyes failed to serve me, for that Face seemed to front all ways at once. I sought to read the words I knew were graven upon it, but could decipher none. I turned away and heard a Trumpet Voice from Earth and Water and Air speak and say:

The Kingdom is not yet won.

Then I knew that my toil was not ended, for though I was saved, yet my Brothers were lost. And I thought, I will return to the Wilderness, and lighten the lot of the Lost Ones with Water from this Pool which I have found.

I built a canal from the Pool across the Desert Land; and I dug deep wells in the cities to store the Waters of Truth. I named myself Guardian of the Waters, and called the thirsty to drink, and many came at my bidding and drank as I directed.

Then I marveled, for I saw that all who came departed unrefreshed, and I tasted the water of my own wells and found it warm and salty.

Then I planned to build a road from the cities to the Pool, to make the Way easy and smooth to the feet of my weary Brothers; but When I had made my Highway, all those that travelled by it returned again to the cities reviling me as a deceiver. At this I wondered greatly, and set forth by the Way I had fashioned; but I found that indeed there was no road, the Sands had swallowed it up.

And at last WISDOM flowered in my Heart, and I saw that Knowledge and Truth can never be reached by any easy and pleasant way: They can never be found by cunning device of the Mind of Man: TRUTH MUST BE REACHED THROUGH THE STRENGTH OF THE HEART; AND KNOWLEDGE GRASPED WITH THE POWER OF THE HAND.

I rose up and returned to the Oasis and the Pool; and the eyes of my True Being opened and looked upon the Pillar, on that face which fronts all ways at once: and these were the words I saw graven there:

I am the Garden of Eternal Wisdom.

I gazed upon the Beauty in the Golden LIGHT of WISDOM; and knew with love and rapture that I had found my kingdom: the Garden was the Home of Father, Sons, and Brothers, and I WAS NOW ITS LORD.

Consider my story, O Learners, for the story is your own. You are Sons of the Garden and dwellers in the Wilderness. You are heirs to the Garden, but not until you conquer the wilderness will you find the Lost Land and receive your heritage.

With your own courage you must brave the Desert. By your own Strength you must overcome its perils. Hunger and thirst must not daunt you. Danger and Pain and Weariness must not stay your steps. If you fall, you must rise unaided and press forward with no thought of rest. Because there is no rest nor help nor any relief from struggle in The Wilderness of the Mind of Man.

The Wilderness of the Mind of Man Part 3

Sometimes, when you start something, you ask yourself, why am I doing this? That’s what’s been happening with me and this blog. I don’t consider myself particularly Afrocentric, but I do consider myself natural. And naturally, my brown skin and tightly curled hair identify me to my ancestry. A significant part of my ancestry is African. A significant part of my history and culture lies in Africa. It does not make me any better or worse than anyone else. It is simply truth.

I am intrigued by history. It provides the context in which we live our lives today. The past, present, and future are inextricably intertwined in more ways than we can imagine. History tells the stories of our ancestors, not just blood ancestry, but national and cultural ancestry as well. Telling the stories of our past allows us to extract wisdom from those who have gone before us. The challenge was, as far as I knew for many years – before slavery, there was no history of my people and culture.

Eventually I found snippets and whispers of a history before slavery while attending a historically black university in the U.S.A. Floating around among these whispers was this text that I have been narrating on this blog: The Wilderness of the Mind of Man. It is deeply poetic and philosophical, imbued with wisdom.

It tells of a journey, out from a garden, a paradise much like Eden, in search of the understanding that would make the seeker master of himself and the garden. Along the way our wanderer encounters other wanderers who have either given up searching for paradise and are trying to make their living in the desert, search fruitlessly in the wrong places, or create their own imitations of the garden and use the guise of “authority” to mislead our wanderer.

In this third installment our wanderer encounters the most advanced of these authority figures. He also finds that what he has been searching for has come to him.

(Photo by Kelene Blake: Ogoni Mask of Nigeria)

Transcript:

Again my heart misgave me, and strength deserted my limbs; and I looked for some wise and powerful guide to aid my faltering steps. And I came to a House of Crystal shining with many jewels and begged the Man who stood by its door to help me upon my way. The man was robed in a gorgeous robe of many splendid colors; and he waved me on with a milk-white wand of the Sacred Tree, Authority: “My son, come within and rest,” he said, and took me by the hand. “I ask no service but that you should wear the garments that I shall give you.”

He clothed me in brilliant robes, and shaded my eyes with strange-hued crystals; then he led me gently forward and left me alone in a wondrous garden. The place was strange and lovely and filled with a changeful mystery: endless vistas of trees and flowers extended on every hand. Among the trees were numberless lakes shining in misty beauty; and I leaped towards one with joyful heart to slake my thirst in its waters.

Then I fell to earth, bruised and stunned; for a cold, hard barrier had risen before my feet, and stopped them in mid-jump: the glorious landscape was shattered; nothing appeared about me but a chaos of shifting colors and vast mocking forms. I arose and tore the robe from my body and cast the crystals in wrath from my eyes; and I saw that I stood in a narrow courtyard with walls all hung with mirrors. The lovely vistas of waving trees were nothing but tangled sickly weeds. The myriad shining lakes were but shallow stagnant pools.

Once again my Father’s VOICE spoke clearly in my ear: “Face the Desert with Strong Heart, my son,” it said, “Seize the Lost Kingdom with your Strong Hand, for that way and only that way will you gain Kingship.”

So I went forth into the Desert, and set my Heart to conquer it asking no longer aid from any man. I turned my face from the ways of men and my eyes from their foolish works. I traveled the Desert Sands alone until hunger had melted my flesh and thirst had dried up the springs of my life, and death walked close behind me, his hand outstretched to seize me. But his fingers failed to grasp me, though many times they touched me, for again and again, though I fainted and fell, yet again and again did I rise. Again and again in the dews of the night, in a trickle amid the burning sands, in the hollow heart of the desert flower, I found enough pure cold water to send me forward refreshed.

But I did not find that land, and that Pool which I sought, and at last my strength was spent. My garments had fallen into shreds, and my sandals had crumbled upon my feet. The night of the Desert was upon me. Darkness and Silence surrounded me. I tottered and fell to earth, thinking to myself, now I die!

For long I lay like one dead: then my hand outstretched touched soft and dewy grass. My nostrils were filled with the aroma of flowers, and my ears the pleasant murmur of waters. I opened my eyes and saw that I lay in a place of LIGHT and Beauty: jeweled lawn, fruit-hung trees extended on every side. Among the glades a deep, cool lake gleamed soft in the Gold of Sunrise; and the azure air above me thrilled with the notes of bright-winged birds.

The Wilderness of the Mind of Man Part 2

In many African traditions, history is passed on through an oral tradition: storytelling. Stories, poetry and songs tell of the feats of history, or convey the values of the people. West African storytellers go by many names: griots, jali, jeli, guewel, gawlo, gnawi, igawen… according to their language, tribe and tradition. These historians and storytellers inherit their role within a family and must learn a wealth of traditional songs without error, becoming walking libraries of history for their people. They also make songs about current events and gossip and even provide some comic relief.

I’m no griot, clearly, but maybe I can still pass on some African history using my version of the oral tradition. Here I’ll continue to read from The Wilderness of the Mind of Man, a deeply philosophical text from Ancient Africa. Last time the story ended in a barren land where our Brothers were building structures and making roads that led to nothing but confusion. Let’s continue the story…

Transcript:

I saw men with Charts and tools in their hands moving about in anxious circles, searching and digging the earth; and I questioned them, and they answered: “We search for the Lost Land of Knowledge”; and those who delved in the earth replied: “We dig for the Well of Truth.”

It seemed, perhaps, that those Brothers were seeking the same thing I sought, and I made myself one of their group to aid them in their task. Yet after many days, I saw that our work was vain: it made nothing but deep worn tracks and pits into which men strayed and stumbled, and from which they escaped with pain and labor, and many did not escape at all.

I quit this profitless toil, and said, I will seek a guide, a Man of Wisdom: there must be such: that will point the way to the Lost Land. Then I saw a House of dark Red stone, and a Man arrayed in a Crimson Robe who stood guard at its door. The Man held a staff of that sacred wood which my Lost Brothers call Authority; and raised it high as I spoke to him and told him of my need. He smiled, and said: “Have hope, my son! Behold you have found your guide, for I hold the pass to the Lost Land of Knowledge, and I guard the Well of Truth.”

He placed a Crimson Veil on my head, and led me into the house, and down a Steep stairway deep into the bowels of the earth: and we came into a vast cavern where shadows clustered thickly, and the ground underfoot was a disgusting tangle overgrown with pale lichens and evil weeds. “This is the Land of Knowledge,” said my guide, “and there lies the Well of Truth.”

I waded through the dark tangle, and drank of the Pool that I found in its midst; but the water was foul with mud and slime, and my thirst was not assuaged.

Then the VOICE of my unseen Father spoke clearly in my ear: “Seek with Strong Heart, and seize with Strong Hand my son,” it said: and I rose up and went forth from the House of Red, and set my face towards the Desert.

Hunger, and thirst, and wariness assailed me as I quested; and I looked for a strong and kindly hand to aid me on my way; and I came to a House of rich Purple Stone and craved help of the Man that guarded its door. The Man was clad in a Purple Robe and held on high a tall staff of Authority. “You are wise to have sought my aid,” he replied, “for I am the Guardian of Truth and Knowledge.”

He wrapped me round with a purple veil, and led me to the door of a dark vault: then pointed forward with his staff and commanded my movements, saying: “Take seven steps forward, then backward take three. Take seven steps to your right hand and bow at each step you take. The Gates of Knowledge are low, very low, so bow deeply, very deeply. Retrace your steps again, and do as you did before, then take four steps backward, and kneel on the floor.”

I did as he commanded, then rose and gazed around; and I saw, though dimly through my Veil, a vast space surrounded by trees. The ground was bright with gorgeous flowers, and a sparkling fountain played before me. I rushed to the fountain, and drank a great draught of its waters; then knew that the draught was not water, but warm spice-charged wine. I cast the veil from my head, and looked about me again; I saw that the lawn and the flowers and the trees were nothing but painted pictures.

Then I remembered my Father’s commands and the Garden and the Pool and the trees and the fruit; and I went out from the House of Purple and faced the Desert alone.

The Wilderness of the Mind of Man Part 1

African wisdom is ancient and all people of African descent have rich histories. I use Histories, plural, because Africa is a continent containing many different peoples. There are many peoples, many tribes or clans, many different cultures and religions, even different physical features of the people of Africa. Belief systems and religions vary, traditions, norms, hierarchies all differ. We are a myriad people. Many people in the African diaspora, the African descendants, scattered around the world through various routes – a large portion of which includes the trans-Atlantic slave trade, may not find it easy to trace your roots to one country or tribe. But that does not take away from the ability to see the obvious, we are all family.

In this sense I want to share a story containing ancient African wisdom. It comes from a book called The Sayings of the Ancient One by P.G. Bowen (click here for a link to get the book from Amazon). This book is a translation of a small portion of ancient mystic writings in the Isinzu language, an archaic form of Bantu from which many modern African languages and dialects were derived… in other words, it’s old; thousands of years BCE before Socrates, Aristotle, or any of the European philosophies were born.

The story is translated to older sounding English with a lot of “thou” and “thy.” I’ll read the story, but I’m going to cut out the “thou” and “thy” for my own sanity’s sake and translate those parts into modern English. As such, I would certainly advise that you go out and read originals on your own… make your own interpretations.

Transcript:

The words of The Ancient One to the Neophytes, in the Hidden Temple of the Hidden Sun. Spoken in the Thirteenth Moon of the Seventh Circle of the Sun in Seventy and Seventh Generation of The Builders.

The Ancient One said:

There are three questions that the MANY ask, but only FEW can answer. They are:

Where do you come from?

What are you doing here?

Where are you going from here?

Life asks those questions, but only LIFE can answer them, for WISDOM and LIFE are two names for one thing. “What are you?” Man asks LIFE.

LIFE answers: “I am all you know. I am all that you have known, but think you have forgotten. I am all that you have yet to learn. Without me you do not exist because I am your SELF.”

Take heed to my story O Learners, for it is your own. I know its beginning, its middle, and its end; but you only know its middle, and that but dimly; therefore take heed and learn.

In youth I dwelt in a Garden with Brothers whose faces mirrored my own, sheltered by the love of a FATHER whose form we never saw; and we knew no strife, nor grief, nor pain, nor any Desire of Man. We walked and played by the shores of a Pool whose waters gleam like crystal, and are cold as the eternal snows that crown the Mighty Mountains. When weary we slept amidst groves of trees with feathery boughs, and soft, shining leaves, and golden fruit that the Pool reflects in beauty that makes Beauty dim.

But my Brothers and I did not perceive those glories, for we were the Garden and its Beauty. We saw not the trees, for we needed no shade. We saw no fruit, for we did not hunger. We saw not the Pool for we did not thirst. We knew not the Garden, for we craved no possessions. We were the Garden, and the Pool, and the fruit, and the trees; and they were ourselves.

But the VOICE of our unseen Father reached my ear one day, and said: “My son, you are the Garden and you are yourself, but you don’t know the one or the other. Before you can know yourself, you must make yourself Lord of the Garden; but before you become its Lord, you must make the Garden complete. There lies a Desert beyond our Home encircling it round about, that you must seize with your Strong Hand, and conquer and make your own. There lies a Pool in its burning sands, that you must seek with your Strong Heart; and when you have found, and conquered you will reign as Lord of this Kingdom.”

I went forth into the Desert, and wandered there a weary while; and learned hunger, and thirst, and pain, and forgot that peace which was once mine. The Land was an Evil Wilderness; and yet it was filled with men; and I knew them to be my Brothers, wandering Sons of the Garden. I looked on those Brothers with wonder, for they seemed blind to their sorrows: they strove not to quit that barren land, but bound themselves closely to it, piling up mighty works, building cities, and cutting roads, till all was one vast maze. Yet, of the roads they made, not one ran straight to any end, but turned and turned again, reaching no goal but Confusion.

From The Ashes

By Kelene Blake
Response to Somebody Blew Up America (Amiri Baraka)

Look at this mess…
The rubble, the ash
The dust that was a city
The crater that was a home
The hollowed out husk of a place
where barefoot children ran
and echoes of laughter bounced
off once-solid walls

I’m tired of asking
Who blew up America?
Who torched this town?
Who bombed this city?
Who confiscates land in poor countries
to build bases and prisons
and post soldiers who use native daughters
as bed warmers?

Who still wants to know
who decimated Hiroshima
and silenced Lumumba?

Who still has to ask
who tried to dehumanize the cradle of humanity,
who stripped earth’s richest lands,
who keeps all dark peoples in the dark?

Why bother asking answers?
Everyone can point out the bully
on this playground.
Why waste time calling for blood
to drip out from a stone?

Don’t wait for it.
That apology does not give us our dignity.
That admittance won’t help anybody
… so don’t wait for it.

The cities built on the backs of the oppressed
are shaking.
The beast holding them up for hundreds of years
is waking.
Amidst the creak and crack of sinews and joints
slowly straightening, seeking relief from
centuries of cramped oppression
Who is ready to stand?

Who’s gonna rebuild America
and all the places and peoples
that perished in her inferno?
Who’s gonna clear the rubble
and help Sundiata to his feet?
Who’s gonna teach princes how to thread
on paths that kings have walked?
Who’s gonna teach the daughters
how to don the queenly cloth?

Who’s gonna dig up our history
from the mud, and ash, and bones?
Who’s gonna weave human dignity
into the tapestry of the unknown?
Who’s gonna break the chains
that have broken so many backs?
Who’s gonna start a new story?
Who’s gonna lay some fresh tracks?

Who’s gonna crush this apple
that has poisoned so many minds?
Who’s gonna break this system
that has ruined so many lives?

Somebody blew up America
and spread its putrid ash around the globe.
Who’s gonna rise from the ashes?
That is what I want to know.