Poets is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.
How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.
How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.
To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.Show less
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
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