Three years ago, I was here in Addis, to give lectures, seminars, etc. One evening, sitting at a corner table, and waiting for a colleague who was uncommonly late, I scribbled the following poem, “The Choice”. My thoughts embodied in the poem, especially those that refer to ‘hypocrisy’, always ring authentic.
Albert Camus, in one of his famous books, “The Rebel” wrote: “Thanks to rebellion, there is something more in history than the relation between mastery and servitude”. Frantz Fanon, adds, “O my body, make of me always a man who questions”.
In a mental poise that is required of reflective reading, enjoy
No black tonight,
Let me goose out,
Yes, Addis by night.
Give me some music, the kind that rocks the house,
Jazz, soul, R&B, as long as it is from the sixties,
thinking of others,,
The core issues.
No holds barred,
put some more incense,
only the best kind.
No, I am not incensed,
not totally upset,
At least, not yet.
Oh! Please, don’t talk to me about Democracy,
’cause, I’ve seen it defined as hypocrisy.
Let’s talk about numbers,
O.K. give me yours.
Sixteen Hundred ,
Why can’t you give me an address,
Where intelligence resides?
Four ninety five, the beltway, and the ring road,
only takes you around and around,
Unless you know where you are headed,
and your choices are limited.
Let’s take route fifty to Annapolis,
a favorite place,
Where some of my ancestors had arrived,
But not as a friend,
only to be auctioned.
Enough!! Take me home.
Where is home?
Where emotion pulls,
Or where the mind resides?