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The
Lament of a Crushed People: in
Port-au-Prince
By Dr.
Rose Ure Mezu
Where are they now – the people laden with
gold?
Who keep caskets made of silver, and other
gems
And sleep in beds encrusted with rubies in
diamonds
The ones who blow uncounted wealth in fat
bonuses
Where are they? For Haiti needs that gold
and other gems
Give what you have, peoples of the earth,
give and, again give
Rich, middling and even poor, keep the
riches a-coming
In cent, dollar, in their hundreds and
hundreds of thousand
For the count of a crushed people remains
untold
The lament of the crushed puts it beyond
hundreds of thousands
So, keep them a-coming- Pound, Franc, Yen,
RMB,
the Euro, the Naira, Rubble—keep them
a-coming
For what the Robber nations with their
blockades took
From Haiti, riches and its spirit of freedom
are worth more.
Beyond tomorrow comes death and this gold is
the useless
See the vagaries of fortune, this is the way
of the world,
The Day before Yesterday, all was well
The Day after Tomorrow all will never be
well
Injured bodies strewn around, wounds
bleeding raw
Fear-wracked faces; and from hoarse and
crying voices
We now hear the lament of the crushed people
of Haiti
“Why? Why? Why?” the young boy yells in
anguish.
This is the song of the Forgotten, the
Forsaken of Port-au-Prince
Song of a valiant people crushed by nature
gone crazy and wild
Song of a once free people forever unused to
any expectation
From fat, amoral leaders so accustomed to
giving them nothing
In Port au Prince of Haiti, the Earth shook,
and split open
And my peoples’ voices croaked in pained
lamentations
Mouths open in loud screams of unutterable
pain
Wounds gape open and flies buzz busily
around
The Forsaken Dead litter the now untidy open
spaces
Become open graveyards where the living
scamper for shelter
Roaming aimlessly like zombies, dazed look
in their wide eyes
Vacant eyes, dead eyes, staring, peering,
looking without seeing
What a world we live in! No fireball in a
festive bonfire
He queries, “Why seek ye the living among
the dead?”
O, Haiti, in these days, in your crowded
ancestral spaces
That is where to search out your dead -
among your living
These open spaces now bestows equality to
the living and dead
Its air filled with the stench of the
decaying among the living
And the griots’ voices tremble in songs of
remembered joys
Gone, gone now are the fun memories of those
days of bliss
In this tropical Isle poor and suffering but
full of warmth
Here, the golden sun blazed as youths
cavorted in its warmth
Here, palm branches swayed in grace in the
evening breeze
The air once so sweet it tasted like
flavored tangerine
And in those days, you could see the babies
of Port-au-Prince
Poor but greedily drinking the free milk of
green coconut fruits
Poor but healthily nourished with the free
bounty of sunrays
Poor women of the city used to stride by
balancing on their heads
Country baskets filled with bananas, pawpaw,
oranges—all
Those golden fruits from a benevolent sun
and gentle Earth
But that was before the tom-tom fell silent
and the music stopped
But that was before the Earth became not a
mother but a wild,
Vengeful Murderer, crushing hands and legs,
sandwiching
Limbs trapped between crumbling floors of
cemented concrete
It is enough to rend the heart to see my
people so, so crushed!
Thus, Sufferings abound galore in total
destruction and desolation
Young girls and boys walking with helpless
arms widely stretched,
Walking, running, screeching silent screams
of anguish unutterable
Images in conflict with the unflinching
valor of ancestral braves like
Toussaint, Dessalines,
Boukman—heroes
of a self-emancipated nation
These people so often tried in the furnaces
of suffering
Will rebound for sure in renewed grace and
strength
Will in time rebuild and regain their fierce
freedom spirit
Their painful desolation of 1/12 will
usher in a Haiti reborn
This your rite of passage has sown seeds of
future growth
As nations of the Earth touched by fiery
darts of sublime grace
Rise to the Divine mandate to be each one
another’s keeper
Led by a cool, fresh-faced leader Obama
imbued with compassion
There sprouts in
awakened hearts the promise of a new world
order
People of the world, let us forego the
second mink coat for Haiti
Let us forego the Cadillac 2010 Escalade, or
Bentley for one a year old
Let us forego one more smoke and save the
price of a pack for Haiti
Let us forego the gambling tables of Monaco
and Vegas for just one week
Let us forego one day safari in Kenya for
the price of water for Haiti
Let us forego one sly retort that starts a
quarrel for one prayer
Let us forego the leisure time for an hour
of diligent writing for Haiti
For writing, painting, sculpting, creating
lyrics—all are activism
For only love and sacrifice will help to
rebuild Port-au-Prince for Haiti
For only love will
remake Haiti and at the end save Our Common
Humanity
January 14, 2009 |
