Spoken word by the spiritual poet

This thought was written over 15 years ago and was inspired by my professional difficulties faced the first decade out of college.  I reflected then on my precipitous climb to professional success and marveled at how those without education, struggling in the  ghettos of the urban enclave remained optimistic and hopeful for a better and brighter tomorrow.  Then I was reminded of our history of hardship as a people and although we became the beast which would carry the burdensome weight of work for this country, our spirit remained both resilient and buoyant.  Again, these reflections were written in a matter of hours, drenched with my tears of sadness and disbelief , that as a people of the sun and as a foreign nation, we did not go insane from the heinous, horrific and  inhuman servitude and subjugation under which we were born, lived and died for centuries in the name of the free nation under God.

“Sometimes I Ponder and It Often Makes Me Wonder, How We Keep From Going Under?”

Sometimes I ponder and it often makes me wonder, how we keep from going under?  The wanton, raping, ravaging, pillaging of our motherland to the Four Corners of earth has come to pass.  The hiding of our souls in whitewashed tomb fortresses slitting the banks of her breasts has come to pass.  The pang of sorrow for her children torn from the cradle of civilization and brought to Babylon’s Promise Land has come to pass.  The Middle Passage dark ages of thousands plunging to fathoms of peace beneath freedom’s cleansing wave has come to pass.  The cargo of souls heaped into waste infested kennels and herded from hulls of ships to sing our Lord’s song on the deck of Sheol has come to pass.  The farming of our race like livestock behind the cotton curtain of the Deep South has come to pass.  Stealing away under night’s canopy to swamp infested wetlands, birthing children in earth’s cavity, blinded for life from Babylon’s darkness has come to pass.  The disembodiment, gutting, staking and torching of our fathers and mothers who rose to freedom’s clarion call has come to pass!  Yet, while forced through this gauntlet of defamation, degradation and decimation, we keep from going under.

Sometimes I ponder and it often makes me wonder, how we keep from going under?  “My country ‘tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing: Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims’ pride, from every mountainside let freedom ring!”  Is this not our country?  Is this not our land where our fathers died?  Did we not bear arms in the Revolutionary War?  Did we not bear arms in the Civil War?  Did we not bear arms in World War One?  Did we not bear arms in World War Two?  Did we not bear arms in Vietnam?  Why then were we not numbered among those of the pilgrims’ pride?  Why did we not hear freedom’s bell ringing from every mountainside and why could we not sing her song of liberty?  Then who were we?  The relentless, intrepid, unsung buffalo soldier, that’s who we were, part man, part beast, that’s who we were.  In contempt of inalienable rights, that’s who we were.  The deriding curse of Noah, that’s who we were.  The shame of humankind and an abomination to look up on as equal that’s who we were!  Yet, though our race was layered with sackcloth of heckling, taunting, byword and proverb, we keep from going under.

Sometimes I ponder and it often makes me wonder, how we keep from going under?  “O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain, for purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain!  America!  America!  God shed his grace on thee, and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.”  Were we not recipients of God’s grace?  Were we not among the cast of brotherhood from sea to shining sea?  Tell me, when were we heirs to amber waves of grain?  When were we heirs to purple mountain majesties above the fruited plains?  When were we heirs to land under skies that were so beautiful and spacious from sea to shining sea?  When were we in this our America?  No, we never were.  This land is not your land; this land is not my land from California nor to the New York Islands.  From the Red Wood Forest to the Gulf Stream waters this land has been kept from you and me.  Behold, it was our blood, our sweat and death which laid the amber waves of grain.  It was our fathers, our mothers who harvested the snow white fruited plains and it was us the unforgotten blotch that laid the chief cornerstone to this our America!  Yet, our sky continues to be like brass and earth like iron but we keep from going under.

Sometimes I ponder and it often makes me wonder, how we keep from going under?  Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Gettysburg are all memorialized and immortalized on the wall charts of history as landmarks and monuments of her ascent to independence.  If America can memorialize her memoirs of triumph and vies to be the nation upon a hill crowned with liberty’s favor, then she cannot continue to tuck her covert history under the bushel basket of shame, but must place it upon the lamp stand of justice for all to know.  The shredded dark chapters of inhumane acts splattered with clots of bloodguilt must be told.  The soldering of perpetual slavery to the soul of our psyche must be told.  The limp bodies that hung from the scaffolds of justice, burning of amalgamation and lynching of our freedom must be told.  The goring of our male role and whore-mongering of our female soul must be told.  The branding, parading, inspecting and auctioning of our people like wildebeests must be told.  The gargantuan vilified King Kong, taken from its indigenous habitat and raised in the concrete jungle with an intrinsic need for conjugal love with virgin Jane must be told.  The Nat Turner’s, Denmark Vesey’s, David Walker’s, Martin Delaney’s, Sojourner Truth’s, Harriet Tubman’s, Frederick Douglas’ and Booker T. Washington’s must be told!  Yet, though this monument of shame has been buried in the unmarked tomb of denial and blotted from America’s annals, we keep from going under.

Sometimes I ponder and it often makes me wonder, how we keep from going under?  “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword—His truth is marching on.”  Trampling out the vintage where racism will rise no more.  Trampling out the vintage where bigotry will rise no more.  Trampling out the vintage where hatred will rise no more.  Trampling out the vintage where the Adamic nature will rise no more!  For it is the double-edged sword of Righteousness and Justice sated with restitution, reparation and reformation which rents the Adamic veil of wickedness asunder.  The sword sated with inalienable rights, equality and justice for all, cuts to the root of sin and gives rise to freedom and abundant life.  It is to this same sword, the WORD of God which quickens the corrupt to the consecrated, transforming the mind, body and soul from synagogues of Satan to temples of the living God.  It is to the drumming of this triumphant truth that we march to, the lightening swift sword that we bear arms with, and His amazing grace that endows us with the faith of Abraham, endurance of Job and spirit of David which we hope in.  To that end, we are determined to be resolute as we solute to His eternal anthem of truth.  Through trials to triumph, we will be unyielding, unbending and unwavering as we march to the eternal drumbeat of our Creator!  Sometimes I ponder and it often makes me wonder, how we keep from going under?