Monica Horton-Knuckles

Once Upon a Time

Once upon an antebellum time
a new nation God chose to create,
from a remnant of Africa’s Diaspora
that he’d liberate then repatriate.

A noble conception
though bitter-sweet in reflection;
the indigenous population’s assimilation
of a kindred yet foreign infiltration.

Still . . . with blessings this ” Land of Liberty ” was crowned.
Infrastructure grew sound,
missionaries did abound,
and for a hundred years sweet peace could be found.

Yet amidst this blessed prosperity,
the hearts of native sons grew explosively fraught
with the inequitable disparity
between those who had and those who had not.

Blinded by greed…the powers that be
did callous, self-serving, unscrupulous things.
The disenfranchised voice they foolishly ignored
as it wailed of injustices abhorred.

Contracts for unspeakable sacrifices
became merely one of many infamous devices
for securing ever so wickedly,
money, power and perpetual sovereignty.

But the ill-fated straw that broke the camel’s back
fell when the price of rice inflated to thirty bucks a sack.
Bush-man and market-woman took to the street
demanding to know how their families they’d feed.

Instead of answers, what the masses would receive
was a blood-splattered foretaste, no man would perceive,
as the hailing of an accursed and shameful decimation
of what was intended to be a peaceful and noble nation.

Leader after leader fell by the hand of the sword.
War after diamond-fueled war came to no peaceable accord.
The very core of the republic’s foundation was tumultuously shaken.
Speculation flew that in divine retribution the people had been forsakened.

Though noted for exacting wrath upon the rebellious
the Almighty is renowned  for and equally zealous
in renewing his grace as surely as the dawn.
Thus, his redemptive purposes he did spawn.

With the last despot having been smote,
the beleaguered citizens emerged to cast their vote
for the daughter of the soil dubbed, ” Iron Lady”…
exemplifying what the love of liberty can triumphantly achieve.

 

Outside Child

Long before the sun, Outside Child will rise,
fold her mat, tie her lappa
and wipe the sleep from her eyes.

Her rubber slippers gather dust along the path
to the well where she’ll draw water for
for New Ma’s children’s bath.

Skillfully atop her head she balances the zinc pail,
while stepping over driver ants that bite with fire
when feet trespass their trail.

“Come quick now, before my children be late,”
admonishes New Ma when the small girl returns.
Waiting upon inside child becomes outside child’s fate.

The scent of sweet rice bread fills the air.
spying the table she hopes
they leave small piece for her there.

She is careful that the coal iron scatters no embers
that might scorch the uniform she presses.
The last cuff to her head for such she still remembers.

She watches her siblings stroll off to school
as she makes her way to the market for
fifty cent cassava to beat for New Ma’s fufu.

She slips away while New Ma sleeps
to find her own cradle of serenity,
betwixt the welcoming limbs of a guava tree.

There, inside now, she recalls her own ma’s advice;
words that when heeded  and repeated
would always bring ease and validation to her life.

“Whatever you are told, you must do your very best.
Try hard, try oh so hard
not to make the people vexed.

Hold your heart my child, I telling you,
your time coming soon.
God love inside child but he love outside child too.”

 

Heart Man Business

When Heart Man stalks the village
his business is not easy.
Soon as night comes, he starts to pillage
for the wicked one’s appeasing.

Blood thirsty orders he must fill
for a contract has been made.
Any beating heart will fit the bill
for severing by his grisly blade.

Power and position are the objects of desire
that entice and seductively push
civilized folks to seek science for hire
deep in the bowels of the bush.

The prize that stolen blood can attain
is deceptive and temporal at best.
Unlike Christ’s blood that was without stain;
this sacrifice cannot truly bless.

For the few moments of ill-gotten glory and fame,
full payment shall the wicked one receive.
For upon the contractor’s soul he eternally lays claim
with the clause that by greed, went unperceived.

 

Copyright © 2008 Monica Horton-Knuckles