MY PROW TOWARDS THE CITY
By Frederick B. Hudson
A song boat
Swaying in the canebrakes
We plucked them ourselves
And left no Pharaohs’’ sons behind us
Our children reach over the sides
For jewels for their mothers’ beauty
Black gold agates painted with the moon
And the crocodile’s tail the boat is a harvest
The horn a goat feast’s last remainder
Blow the horn a triumphant pace of victory rhythm
Then fill the horn with mangoes
We march this craft across the tides
The sun under our oars
This time let there be no huddling
Among each other and starvation
This time let there be no leaping
for freedom tides this time let there be no crying
but rather let us weave a sunrise robe
and let its bent colors comb
the grey dusk cities of the West
to remember our ancestors who soared above their burial stones.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Frederick Hudson and writers in Poets and other communities.
My Life as a Banker
My Life as a Banker By Frederick B. Hudson A Parable One evening when a farmer had cultivated his crops, fed his mule, and locked his barn; he sat down in the evening and watched the sun set. But with darkness came a ferocious rain, followed by wind that whined and gusted with a ferocity that seldom seen.
By Frederick Hudson5 years ago in Motivation
How, Too
Many people wonder how, too. You are not alone, and I am an expert. I will teach you how, too! First, you need to remit a small application fee and fill out an application describing the nature of your financial situation and how often payments will be made, as this will have great bearing on how well I teach you how, too.
By Harper Lewis8 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.