off the banks of Port-au-Prince
refugees
walk on water
like the Igbo did
seeking an “outlaw’s freedom”
a child cries
in Creole speech
a slave ship song
out of the mouth of the Middle Passage
her tears require no translation
“Freedom or Death”
Dessaline’s prayer
as hundreds of Toussaints stare
into the white of the Coast Guard’s eyes
reciting from their Caribbean retinas
Claude McKay’s “If We Must Die”
marooned
like John the Baptiste
who came preaching the word
that saved the enslaved
who cut the cane of colonialism
with the massa’s machete
maimed Britain, France and Spain
(the real reason for Napoleon's complex)
Vesey caught the vex of the spirit
and said “we got next”
would pass it on to the African Angel Gabriel
who blew the horn of rebellion throughout the South
and David Walker
the talker who walked the talk
and scribed his Appeal
that sent Prophet Nat to the fields
dreaming dreams and seeing visions
spirits raging in the sky
as sign for the time had come
Black Revelation
is Blood Revolution
it was good as done
even Jefferson knew
which is why he left instructions for Bush to come after you
Aristide
and the whole world watched
as the ghosts captured
Haiti’s democratically elected leader
more legit than Bush-it
Aristide kept under glock and lock
as the Merovingians held the keys
and the French say “oui, oui mon cherie”
not fries but spies who lies
in the heart of Africa
in Lumumba’s shadow
shot, dismembered and burned
remember?
and the whole world watched
as the ghosts captured Patrice
with reporters asking questions
his shirt soaked in blood
his eyes bloated
and what about Maurice
the Bishop of Black revolutionaries
you were meant to meet the same fate as them
this here aint no voodoo
that done did this to you
this here be a coup by Bush II
and his capitalist crew
in other words
the Devil to me and you
disguised as a fundamentalist Christian
but Aristide knew the difference between the two
priest of the poor
not made for politics but peace
with the heart of Romero resurrected
who knew the junta of injustice
moneyed by Americans
all the way to Wall Street
what kind of a nation is this?
what kind of a nation is this?
this is beyond votes and who will run for office
this is beyond calling your state rep
this is beyond congressional investigations
this is evil live and direct
Hades is shady
but hell hath no fury like a nation scorned
Native-born hostility
restless revolutionaries
spirits of the San Domingo revolt
rise up
two hundred years and counting
maybe
the time has come
to make the fiction of Martin Delaney’s Blake
into the friction
that will shake the entire Western Hemisphere
but back to the blockade
and the border raid
which begs the question why
maybe G. Dubya’s too scared
he might wake up one morning
and find
millions of Haitians on his front lawn
as bad as Basquiat with just aerosol cans
in their Black hands
scrawling skeletons on the White House walls
naming the time and date
of the US empire’s fall
and I quote
“that’s all
that’s all
that’s all
she wrote!”
Ewuare Osayande is a political activist, poet and essayist who has written numerous books including So the Spoken Word Won't Be Broken: The Politics of the New Black Poetry and Black Anti-Ballistic Missives: Resisting War/Resisting Racism. Currently, he is working on a forthcoming book of poems to be published by Africa World Press.
