Beats of Freedom

With calabashes and gourds nearby

the talking drum and gong seldom lay silent

and why should they? My son has come home

but I remember him not; shouldn’t they stay silent?

but I remember his mother’s mark

he carries them in his eyes

I remember them!

I marked them myself

“I marked his mother’s eyes like the rubber tree”

when I first laid eyes on her

my heart beat beneath my ribs where it was caged

it beat just fine but I was free

let the drums mercilessly beat

my son has come to his father’s house

I remember him!

I remember his mother too

I remember when I was free!