Migrants And The Breeze Poem by Frank Bana

Upon the shore by Goree Island,
The Green Cape's western coast
Senghor's spirit of poetry
Perfumes the evening smoke

The night vibrates to duelling drums
Youthful fingers point to the north
To trace a path for emigrants
By bearings that the slaveboats took

The breeze is a playful character
Dancing a funana with the trees
Teasing, arousing the rushing waves
That grasp for home on the narrow shore

Great masks guard the coastline from invaders
Insisting on history that Africa owns
The Wolof spirit exceeds the present
Beachwalkers hold the future close.

Boats of refugees are impounded
By the naval forces of Senegal
Halted in search of the Canary Islands
Impelled from home by poverty or war...

... this message from the western coast
Arrives too late for young lives lost
But as these words and people pass,
And all of us were migrants once

We know the human heart will seek
The dignities of wealth, degrees
Elusive as the breeze that plays
Where shore and sea are bound to meet
And never know to rest.