Poems

Sorrows of the Black City

On the roads of the city
When the night erects over it/them a trellis of veins
And sprinkles on it/them its deep grief
You see them/her with bowed heads in silence
Gazing at the cracks
And you think they are/she is calm
But they are/she is on fire!
 
On the roads of the city
And when the darkness sets up
Its marble statues
And tears them down in disobedience
And it [the city] descends with creatures
Its [the darkness] spiral staircase
To the remote, remote past.
And drown in memories
Its [the darkness] ambergris shores
And it [the city] almost does not wake up
And in every being a wall rises up/is erected [unclear whether passive or active verb]
From clay, and diamonds, and desires
And the night is drowsy, and the day awakes
Lining up candles to the darkness
There dries up the blood of tranquillity/silence
Dryness of tombs
And the heart of the city becomes
Like a wretched thing
Like a stove in midday heat
Like a lamp on the road of a blind man
Like African the darkness of ages
An old woman wrapped up in incense
And a great pit of fire
And the horn of a sheep
And an amulet made from ancient prayers
And a night with many mirrors
And a dance of naked black women
Singing in black joy
And a coma of sins
Kept awake by the desire of the master
And ships laden with lovely slave girls
And with musk, and ivory, and saffron
Gifts without festival
Which the wind despatches in every time
To the white man of this era
To the master of every era
And a plantation stretches out in the imagination of existence
It will clothe the naked, and make bare the naked
And flow like its fathers in the veins of life
And dye the colour of the water
And dye the face of God
And laugh its sorrows on lips
And grow even tyrants
And even slaves
And even iron
And even fetters
And each day something new will be grown
 
And yet they when darkness builds
On the roads of the city
Barriers of black stone
Stretch out their hands in silence
To the balconies of tomorrow
And they are imprisoned cries
In an imprisoned land
And their days are stabbing memories
And their faces are like the blind man, sad
You see them with bowed heads in silence
Gazing at the cracks
And you think they are calm
But they are on fire!