“Retribution”

We MJ’d You—waited till the nose that we ridiculed ceased to smell to finally present you your rightful roses.
So I am compelled to propose this: You raised me right, but still, once my shoulders could stand upright, I gracefully walked out on you, on me, on us.

Failing to express and confess your finesse. Missing to address your regress or take note of your gentile caress. Nevertheless,

My mamma has a smile of Gold, her sandy beaches are white, yet her babies are dark like the strength they embody.

Life caught me up, I didn’t send her pills in time; Money Grams only sometimes.

I heard her dialing my name for help a million times, as though, busy was my phone line.

But she grew faint; she grew weak, till she no longer could speak—

To articulate her needs.

As her daughter, that’s what I did to my precious Haiti…

She had to plead, she had to bleed, before I could speed, back home to see my mummy.

You’ve taught me to believe in reincarnation, so faithfully I’ll wait on your salvation,

Assured that one day through the strength you embody and relentless donation, we shall build an everlasting foundation,

Where those that doubted before will be in complete fascination, we shall exceed all expectations without hesitation for this brand new generation,

Mummy, you are the personification of God’s grand manifestation,

So I just can’t lean on my own interpretation, No, I’ve got to put away those hasty reservations,

And come to the meditation that my mamma has a smile of Gold, her sandy beaches are white, but her babies are dark like the strength they embody.

This is why I love my Haiti, this is why I’ve got to love my Haiti… I remain her beautiful and precious baby.

And this time I ought to, this time I vow to, promise, to love you right—commencing right here, tonight.

__________________________________________________________________
“Expectations”
 

Desperately praying to God for some new shoes, yet never thinking to bring our own socks.
At times we pray without expectation, not believing her to come through, fronting as though our growth can’t be unlocked.
I’ve touched Gold In Ghana, witnessed revolution in Chad,
Became familiar with wondrous abilities of the Nigerian womb,
And came to understand the origins of authentic swag.

And even with all the aforementioned just listed, and all that I’m assured that she’s done,
Every text picked up somehow always has one single story: HIV/AIDS takes yet another one.

And if not wise nor conscious enough to take a critical look at that single skewed master narrative,
Brown hues will be coerced in believing that negative consumed in Africa is the most imperative.
Purposely Conditioned, they always suggest sheer civil unrest, positive HIV Tests, in- equivalence to the rest, as though to suggest that our potential remains suppressed, as if we are second best to the rest, to the West.

That’s the danger in enabling other folks to teach us about ourselves.
Our truth gets shelved,
Never allowing ourselves to delve within the realm of self
To adequately express and digest, confess and ingest just how progressive and impressive we are as a people, as a kin, as humanity.
And this is not ego nor vanity when I say look at me if you need proof of what Africa can birth,
It’s just that I’m assured of the worth that can be unearthed when one realizes that
Their motherland is a wondrous land, filled with miraculous hands, capable to expand man.

So next time you send up a little prayer for Africa,
Please do so with expectation, because our 54 nations are causation for all creation,
That alone should not only bring a standing ovation but cessation,
To the apprehension and the doubt… because clearly that is never what our people have been about.

Poetry By: Sophia S. Vilceus