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Captive No More
Captive No More
1
What you are reading is not poetry. It is not fiction. It is my true family history.
I am an ascendant from slavery. Yes.
It means I am a descendant of enslaved bodies. Yes.
Inside me, they locked iron collars,
leg fetters, and hand lockers. Yes.
Yes. Does it sound weird? Yes.
Slavery was real in Africa. Yes
Africa was the Ground Zero of slavery. Yes.
The fellow hiding in this picture is easy to find, right
The fellow hiding in this picture is easy to find, right
Do you know this song?
Do you know this song?
Ẹ fà á nírungbọn tu!
Ẹ fà á nírungbọn tu ò
Àgbàlagbà tí ò lówó lọ́wọ́
Tó ń dá irungbọ̀n sí
Ẹ fà á nírungbọn tu.
Another painting that I just extracted from my garage is this dark work.
Another painting that I just extracted from my garage is this dark work.
There is an interesting story behind it.
In the year 2000 or 2001, the British Museum invited me to give a lecture as part of the ceremonies held in commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, and also to mark the completion of the Great Court built as an extension of the main museum building. They wanted me to address the body as my topic.
One Her Independence Day
One Her Independence Day
I sent her
a flower vase
spun of orphic hair
with strands of gold,
each line gilded
with a ray of solar tint,
tightly woven into a dreamy jar
with slender pythonic fingers,
and detailed with combed titanic glints
boasting ornamental strings of rubies:
‘Cos You’re Happy
Cos You’re Happy
There is a science of joy
and it is simple:
when the sun shines on ice
it melts, right?
