Memories Of Kicks And Pricks Of Thorns Poem by JOHN THE GIFTED HANDS

We are the prides of Barbados
Tempted though yet unbeguild
We who saw our feet buried under the fires of the African sun when the flames of stormy blast

We who were trapped in traffic
and condemned with iron rods of despair in the shadows of turning

Yet our village dead bodies rose upsurgingly from the wanderland
dusting off chains and shackles to become necessary parts of existence

We are waving the heroes flags with stiff necks and broad shoulders in memories of kicks and pricks of thorns as a perfect rugged cross