The Lions Tale presents: Ghost of the Shango

RUDWAAN@JUNETEENTH14AGhost of the Shango
A Spoken Word Joint
by Rudwaan

The souls of our Ancestors are in agony
and I?
I have a complex
as my mind reflects
on days gone by
days of the rusty chains
the pains
and a thirst for the homeland rains
yes
I have a complex

I am mentally perplexed
caught up in a storm of bewilderment
that we have so soon forgiven
this un-wholly government
who forged its establishments
propagated its very existence
on the blood
the sweat
and the tears of our enslavement
the spirits of our ancestors
are troubled by our ignorance
our seemingly lack of common sense
our impotence
our insensitivity to the hows
the whys
and the by-whoms
they have suffered
they weep
while we just get along on this river of avoidance
avoiding to be swept into the sea of truth
they bear witness to our state of denial
and I?
I have a complex

I am tortured by our unwillingness
our refusal to face the facts
that the blood of our tortured fore-bearers
flow thru our veins
and so too their pains
eyes have we
yet we cannot see
that the same pain that spurred them to bun
the god-damned plantations to the ground
is the same pain that overcomes us
as we burn these inner-city ghettos
like the ghost of the Shango
caught in a moment of flashback
we attack
the source of our oppression
then we marry them
our women
chosen to carry their corrupt seeds
deep into the promise land
our men
enter the womb of bondage
and deliver bastard sons
thru the doors of no return
the souls of our Ancestors are in agony
and I?
I have a complex

Against those who have transgressed
against even the least of us
now?
the deceased of us
woe unto us
as we trusted their sense of humanity
trapped in a moment of insanity
we sacrificed our innocent ones
weep now!
for the children of Soweto
weep now!
for the children of the ghetto
who sow the only seeds they know
then reap a premature and bitter harvest
who fail in this life
for we ill-prepared them for the test
but weep not only for the children
but weep also for ourselves
for we have failed them
for while we were busy marching and begging
for their rights to vote
our children were taking notes
while we were busy throwing ourselves to the dogs
for their civil rights
our children were forming gangs in the night
and now?
the chickens have come home to roost
and I?
I have a complex

My spirit is sore vexed
over our need to be more like them
our need to integrate into this unrighteous system
where our success is measured
by the benchmark they have laid down
as we look back on days gone by and say look
look how far we’ve come
but eyes have we
yet we cannot see
that though our materialistic limitations were
abundant
we were together
we danced together
now?
we dance alone
We felt each other’s pain
now?
we cause each other pain
the village raised the children
now?
the children are raising hell in the village
my home was your home
now?
each man has his own
and minds his own
and we as a people
have no home
to call our own
the souls of our Ancestors are in agony
and I?
I have a complex.

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from the book Endangered Speeches by Rudwaan

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