On the shores of the middle ground is the place of my sadness.
Its waters are shared by the lands of the cedars and date palms.
It is the city in which my ancestors
ate pomegranates and Saint Johns Bread.
On its shores life’s youthfulness was celebrated.
On a hillside where I sat on previous visits,
I watched what I called “beautiful” in times past, become repulsive.
In a place where I hoped for rest and spiritual emancipation,
I am to forever sorrow.
I am to always remember this place as the hole in
my soul despite its captivating beauty.
It is here where so many have fallen and will continue to fall,
but on this day I was to watch
the sunset from this hill for the last time.
I wondered mindlessly, running in folly.
I was no different than those who roamed the streets drinking of her.
I had become intoxicated with distractions,
neglecting my responsibility.
I watched as the sun began to set,
unaware that darkness was coming.
If I knew what the darkness was carrying with it,
I would have held the sun up upon my shoulders.
The darkness came and I cried until there was no river left.
My tears flowed with the strength of an unsuspected
undertow moving violently through the sea.
It is here where I realized that I had been forsaken
many years prior by the earth and the sun.
Maybe if I could have caught and held up the sun,
maybe the roots of this once an Oak tree, would still flourish.
By sunrise I will be forced to wear this sorrow like a tattoo, never to forget.
Tshombe Sekou Harris, 9 August 2006
Copyright Ã?Â© 2006. All Rights Reserved