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.


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