How proud I feel when I see you with your hair defiant of gravity, seeing you sing, is listening to voices coming from hundreds of years from our heros andsheroes who fell from the pinnacle of civilization, to the communicative spirituals of slaves yearning for freedom to the survival of our ancestors throughout the colonial era.
Your music is soothing, it is the kind that exorcises the demons of systemic oppression and your music provides an escape from the horror of cooperate plantations.I seat here, consuming it and it brings healing to my psyche, calming my waging and wailing spirit.
Camagu.
You play the instruments and they are one with you and you are one with them. You can tell yours, our ancestors made these musical tools, carved their music deep deep deep inside you and their kind.When you play you evoke creativity from within me and words come rushing out my mind, my hand is not fast enough to put to paper what flows out of my mind.
This is service to Afrika. The people of rhythm and poetry. The people of clap and tap. The people of whistle and wiggle. The people of beats and drums. The people of jazz and blues. The people of music inventions and countless variations and genres. I seat here and I know your music vibrates through the walls and reverberates through my body.
I listen and I am proud. I listen and I hear about myself.
Camagu.
|HF Swartz|
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem