The Haitian Lady
 

Look at the strength she is carrying

Tightly, her hair is plaited with resistance

Boldly, she is sitting on her donkey

She is heading North .

Today the sun gives her extra energy

That’s why she burns woods

And turns nature into charcoal.

She plants rice for consumption

She stumps to life’s rhythm

And ties her waist with a red rag.

She waits for thunder to award her a baby.

Like the light wind caressing heavy dust,

The gods took her husband away,

And it’s only the Veil

That she was born under

That is now covering her innocence

See?

She can see you,

But you can’t see her.

There,

She is the mirror of true résistance .

*********************************

Bois-Caiman-1791

 

 Announcement! Announcement!

Oh come and bring forth

The angels of heaven

Till I learn how to grow wings

Till death shouts,

Oderaa, Oderaa!

Boukman is king?

**********************************************

We are some brave Haitians!

 My culture is like a Southern quilt
Made from West African fabric
And a dye that is as pretty as the rainbow.

Our life in the sun is stiff
But our blood spills victory ...
Our imagination is green with prosperity.
 
When we are in pain, we call on music
Day & night, we dance in the crowded streets
And we multiply long time sound in RARA beat .

We use drums, horns, conch shells, bottles
And the echo of the beach and the sun.
And to break Colonial chains,
We call on all mysterious hands from East.
 
In life's struggles,
We carved two secret paths
That's the way inside the charm of our mind.
There, we live life, by and by.

 And you ask how we're still surviving?
 We're some brave Haitians!

 ******************************************

Poet's Journey
By Castina Charles

To know true ancestry
I had to
remember Haiti in the deep recesses
of my mind
I wasn't born there
But my soul
and the soul of my ancestors
bleed there
So when I close my eyes real deep
I can smell mango trees
the powdered and perfumed mahogany skin
the lust filled men
and see the sexin
of the maids behind the tress
I ride on the Tap Tap
eat spicy griot
drink papaya juice
and belch out plantain breath
I am poet
so space, distance, and time
is of no regard to me
I'm neither here nor there
but wherever
I BE
I SEE
true evil taking off its flesh
My people have become zombies
and the devil wears many faces
He can even resemble me
Makes no difference
Brethren or Sistren
can become foe too.
I try hard
I fight against my flesh
I love them
the land
the beauty
and its soul
But its hard
to be there
here
or anywhere
when conformity means
I must
be a devil too.
*******************************

Fania's Response to A Poet's Journey

Sistren,
Let me take you there
We'll journey to Toussaint's Airport
And land the bird on our father's back

Sistren,
Grab your substance bag
And I'll grab my substance sac
We'll place poetry before life poets
Sitting and selling provisions
to the hot sun

Once you taste that griot flavor
You’ll never cross back over
You'll stay locked --
Inside the vendor's flow
Of chien janbe

Sistren,
I cannot lie
It has been a while
Since I've been there
Then, the hospitality I received
Came from seven heaven
And I refused to leave the elders
'Cause the energy was o' so sweet
Now, anything goes !
Politics and greed guard the streets

Sistren,
Let us skip the City's Port
And head into the provinces
Where kindness still bloom in the light
When we get there,
We will dine with clean spirits
Honey, holy water and laughter from God
Drums, graj and bamboo sticks inside the word
Midnight will shoot stars from high
And daylight will consume LALO (the best veggie from my province)
And rice from the big hills (Gros mornes)
...Yes! We flow that way up north

Hey, wait.
Hold on to that mystical sac
Just be yourself and don't trick.
'Cause only then, you'll taste real Haitian love
Inside the source of bonite o' art. (L'artibonite)
There,
True love rests with the peasants’ beauty
In growing in the land,
In the hills and in the valleys.

Sistren,
Behind every mountain, there is a mountain
Please, let me take you there!
Forget about time,
We will fly up high
Mother Nature will clean our lungs
And helps us breathe a different air and sun

Sistren,
Just let me take you there
Before we fly to A-F-R-I-C-A sphere

***********************************************

My Flight to Africa


In the Western Hemisphere,
They call us "Creole."
Or, "Diaspora," a new first name before our last
So [I] had to escape before the night passed
Somehow, I landed back on Mother Africa.

There, I wanted to see if I could exist
Just me alone between two worlds
Away from the place that held me hostage.
But my flight to Africa was o' so bizarre
There, I'm called, "Islander."
A spirit, born on the soil of displacement.

O' welcome back distant family!
I was happy to hear and I was happy to see
The long lost me, or "a Cousin" from exile.
Speaking in tongues to relocate color
From our lost songs.

O' West!
In the beginning I felt at home.
I was outside my shell,
Passing through the 'door of no return'
Still, I was a stranger in my Mother's land.
They said, I dance off beat to the Eastern heat.

O' well! Today is my point of departure.
I'm closing my eyes again
I don't want to see beneath my tired wings,
For I am holding tight to arms of the wind...
For East or West, I must find a home,
Since God is my faithful translator.

************************************

Baby Doc, Macoutes & Leopards


Green armors

Are crawling up my hill

Black boots are on their feet

Leopards in green

Dwelling inside sinful machines

And bones aiming blood at Papa’s feet...
 

We prayed and became very brave.
With prayer, we were always brave,
And alive.