A poem by Inua Ellams – ‘Fighters and Lovers’ calls to mind the plight of the Saharawi, and urges that we must hope. That there will be a future which doesn’t conform to the present situation in the Western Sahara. That this future is destiny. When dawn breakslike a stretched sonata silence brown handling the fantastic blue, when dust litters this new quite like the substance of prophecies before its period of bloom, when life lulls the living back to its true paths Our change will come. It will come after a tumultus multitude of fighters have expired for a reason not worth the breath it is uttered with. It will come after the structures of global lies fall, sparking the Exodus, movement of the people with their minds in tow, it will come. Then those born by the river will gather around camp fires and finally stop running. The metronomic yet melodious humming of tired mothers will reach a crescendo and pause – sailors will let up their oars and let the current take them there the powers of imagination will be fully revealed to men, they will exactly who they are and who they can be. This will set us free falling towards a second of sensory sovereignty as our senses go insane. That moment will taste, like a teaspoon full of forbidden fruit shake. Mixed with Lotus water and lugubriously ladled onto a parched tongue till the whole mouths is rendered rhapsodic reeling with intent wonder and hope. It will smell like fresh pharaohs of the new sun, ancient and young, like old wisdom riding a BMX between freight trains in a freezing rain stained with child’s play and laughter. After, it will sound like a cello made of rosewood exhaling soft poetry over a brown village at night in the quite after the tempest goes making the atmosphere finally feel good. and it will feel like a hug from God. Finished with a squeeze saying “your time has come”. And then our time will come. Our suffering will be the greatest stories ever told. Symbols of our heartache will be treasured in sacred places as constant reminders that Love never fails, never folds. Our tears will be recognized as rain clouds and they will be danced beneath, this will be a reflex, uncharted, untold, and our silences will be reincarnated as light, after years of just being golden. This is not fantasy; this is reality with a dream complex. I have seen it written in old books, it is the subject of Negro spirituals, it has been spoken of by those who trespassed in paradise and returned whole. This is our destiny, we are destined to reach that goal. Though weeping may endure for the night, joy comes in the morning and as we suffer, we gain the passage right. So grasp your tempest, never let go, hold on, stay strong, hold tight. Inua Ellams is a ‘word and graphic artist’. Born in Nigeria in 1984, he has been creating word and visual art with his own distinct style, described as “influenced by Classic literature as it is by hip hop, by Keats as it is by MosDef.” He began is creative path by working with a pencil, which inspired him and drew him into the visual world. His current work is in graphic design, visual art and word art, both online and in print. If you’d like to know more about Inua, his website can be found at http://phaze05.com/blog/.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Sandblast BlogNews about Sandblast & Western Sahara Archives
November 2020
Categories
All
|