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Written by Nakia Paskett
Child,
What happened to our men folk?
They don’t come round here no mo
I look for them to protect and stand up for us women here
But I don’t see them no mo
I look for them to teach the seeds and tell the stories of our people
But they don’t come round here no mo
Them children go chasing that old man
Locs wrapped around his head like a turban, they tell the age of his wisdom
He walks slowing without a cane,
Child, he don’t need no cane, he walks on the shoulders
Of the ancestors, they keep him steady
The Old man, stares hauntingly
And calls the children to sit by his feet
His voice is deep and low, still decorated by his native tongue,
The old man tell tales from the country and feed the children knowledge, fruit, but no one’s eating
Tears sting his piercing eyes, and drip down his blue black skin
He sadden
He see the future and its dark, the seeds don’t have the knowledge, wisdom or understanding
The Old man look into the empty eyes of the seeds
With his native tongue and energy from the ancestors
He screams,
CHILD,
Come sit now and listen to the griot.
-Nakia Paskett, 2018
