Her smile purchased my heart,
Ate it whole
Skin soft and supple,
It watered my deepest imaginations,
Your words brought tears to my eyes,
They were an inch more than perfect,
For you wouldn’t understand,
Your good heart won’t accept my praise,
Her words struck gold,
For in that portrait I glowed,
I’ve met a pure simile,
Hence my metaphors need not conjunct,
Little medusa, for she’s seduced my verve,
And made me nothing but a dreamer
That my days are nightly,
The easterly wind forging a mast,
Into which I sail.

– Smyekh David-West.




And he wrote poetry,
Because his heart moved,
From where it was placed,
Hoping that one day,
It would somehow,
Maybe, find its way back.

In reality,
He was just,
Another complex fallacy,
A cherub, sui juris,
Bound roughly ‘tween,
Love and hope.

That the world might know,
His story of history,
And maybe,
It might help him find stability,
A young pharaoh,
Ruler of none,
For his heart was in exile.

So his quill stops in mid-air,
Blood the ink, strobes…
Like a sailing ship on desert sand,
For these earthlings wouldn’t understand,
And so he stood,
A pyramid without its core.

-Smyekh David-West.

The March


13 years we marched,
Walked to have rights,
With great might,
Our skin colour chaotic,
Black and obscene,
Fore – fathers and mothers,
Were contrived to believe,
Thus, they deemed us such.

He couldn’t bear the burden,
Yes a burden,
This large vessel it had become,
He couldn’t bear the burden,
The slave that toiled his farm,
Had grown a heart and soul,
Would want to dine with him,
His hamlet wouldn’t accommodate.

For this cause we marched,
Freedom the objective,
Peace the penultimate goal,
We sat on buses and walked the streets,
Black suits and top hats,
Dressed for the occasion,
History is being written,
The revolution televised for all to witness.

Equality is all we ask for,
But they called it something more complex,
Fancy words to confuse; civil rights,
We built the buses, we toiled those streets,
Why shan’t I break bread where you do?
For we built worlds together,
Your idea, our labour,
Mere thoughts, 
Implemented by blood, sweat and tears.

Soft words from my granddaughter suggests,
Shall we live together?
On this land with equal rights as one…

-Smyekh David-West.

Written for Aberdeen University African Caribbean Society. A Black History Month Dedication.