CONGO SQUARE
By Lady 82Faye
I hear the drums beating,
Hands summoning us to come
Come home, sons and daughters.
I see your weary & down-trodden,
Your hungry, tired, & despair
I see your lynched – physically and spiritually
Come home.
Come home with dancing & joy,
Songs of love in your heart
I see your grieving mothers, your lost fathers
I hear your cries for help,
Your longing for unity, your pleas for humanity and from
humanity
Come home. Come home to love and open arms, to love and
warmth. Come home to the sun, the rays of peace, of self, of beauty.
Come home to trees of knowledge bright, where mothers of
wit bore us, and fathers dear held us strong, with pride.
I know. I know your struggles to know yourself in the
larger picture, of having to be better than average,
Though you know you’re enough.
I know your story for equality, from “Ain’t I A Woman” to
“I Am A Man,” in world wars, civil wars, revolutionary wars, yet, you still
fight…
To be seen as a human, treated with dignity, to feel a
sense of belonging
Come home. Come home through the gates where it all
began. The drums are calling. The hands of home guide the way.
Home.
