Calling Me

From 'Less Traveled the Road' by Sylvester S. Wright

I hear you calling me mother Africa not the land—the culture

I hear you calling me back to the spear

Back to the chase of the gazelle like deer

I hear Africa call me not the tribe not the king

The poor war torn ones that sing

I hear you calling me back to the shield

Back to the field

Where sticks we wield

To fight off lions from the skins of our young

I hear the sound of drums not of the warrior

We are so much more

The riddle cry of the witch doctor

Belly dancers, all dancers throwing their feet to the blue white skies

Calling the dead and me

I hear the sweet soft voice with the strength of the word

Before religion made us one of the herd

I hear you calling me from the bush not the African one

The ones on Crenshaw and Stocker

I hear you scream at the top of your lungs

Freedom

You call me to conform as a slave

I hear you calling me screaming the names the slave owner gave me

Who penetrated not just your vaginas but pushed deep into your culture

Your idea of me, you, us, we

I hear you calling me to join you

Shun me with no love when and if I refuse to do what you want me to

I still love you

I hear you calling me whispering—sweet stares my way

I hear you calling me

However my name is not [email protected]#$* and I am no kin to conformity


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I AM. Master of Arts
I AM. Master of Arts

I love all forms of art and hope to create a master piece in each one before I die. I'm an alumni of Ashford University, double BA in Psychology & Sociology & MA in  Psychology. The art of thinking is the most appealing thing to me.

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