时间：2026-02-06
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Across the clearing to the west
of where he pauses for a rest,
men as far as the eye can see
ready to set sail across the
sea.
United by a common cause
without fanfare or applause,
all the world in war and strife
each one has wagered his own life.
He dips a rag into the stream
and wipes his face 'til there's a gleam,
he glistens in the moonlight
like a black pearl in the night.
Around his neck hangs from a string,
pinned by its closed wing,
Sankofa, is what he calls the bird,
who holds his history in a word.
A symbol, an ancient guide,
resting near his heart with pride.
A lesson to keep in mind,
return for what was left behind.
He takes the load off his back
and unfolds the paper in his sack
"Here's your chance, it's men we want!"
the poster declares in bold font.
Here he is, a man indeed
and into the moment he'll proceed.
His clothes are plain, his pockets empty,
but where courage is needed he has plenty.
At every chance along his way
he gathers his thoughts to relay
in letter after letter to Yaa, his mother,
though they might never reach her
What did the ancestors know,
feet pressed against a ruthless shore?
Yaa, tell me again of our survival,
of choices made at the crossroads.
Tell me of the courage that carried our people across continents
--survival thumping in their chests like a war drum.
At every crossroad the questions;
whose blood is shed and in whose name?
what wars are waged and on whose land?
which weapon shall I touch my hand to
and what truth could it yield?
What is the price of a dream?
I ask the same questions now amidst the whispers
of all the men, not too weak or too old to be enrolled
but too Black...too Black even to die among.
If I fight in their war, will they see me?
If I put to death another mother's son
can I one day stand skin to skin with them
and finally be called a man too?
The man rises to his feet
to set his steps back on a beat.
But before he gets back on his way,
