From the West to the East coast many Caribbean kings have resisted Colonial prowlers seeking to have them dethroned.
Toussaint L’Ouverture lead a monumental rebellion of a temporarily en-captured people.
Marcus Gravy opened the minds, carrying us over the sea, through the passage way into the divine.
In a smooth calypso beat we stride, with a steal pan rhythm fueling our feet. Up on the beat we ride, standing and waving our flags with pride, in our right to exist, like Gods gift, yes, we exist!
Up on the roaring waves, we surf, never lowering our gaze, wining like the kingdom has come, come to both sea and land, from coast to coast we ride.
Expanding the very edges of the earth like the beast we carry the rhythm of the earth . No longer a burden but a lift as we stride, strut, pimp and grind, carrying our crown over our expandable turf.
Up from the tribal dirt, we bob our heads that once hang low; heavy from this fast spinning earth, but now our mouths are open wide. Sweet honey clings to our lips, with resilience and hard work in the mix causing a new moon and a solar eclipse.
Working up from mornin to dawn, a union’s force blowing the shofar like trumpet sound, as the alarm goes off“it’s carnival time.”
“After winter, must come spring, We shout “everything is everything.”
To reconnect Zimbabwe, Ethiopia, Niger and the Ivory, diamond coast is truly possible in this generation of those we call woke.
Many will sit on thrones, enjoy our long pursued immortal reign. In honor of our ancestor tombs being excavated, no longer will we be mute. We are both artist and muse, influencing the art collected for view. War balances our views, victory to those who remain true.
Our history has been bewitched , so it’s become a mystery how well we once fit.
Together deep in the belly of the Congo tombs, we will not be moved.
swollen, heavy, hanging low, past the due date and ready to give birth.
In the depths of our tribal festivities we dwell. In harmony, divine nature and energy a soothing soul rhapsody.
Belgium, may have stolen our labor, chopped off hands, and ciphered our wages ;but like the rubber they stole we’re UN-degradable. The wealth of the righteous is always attainable. Let the weak say I am strong, gather strength to carry on.
Mental and physical, wellness starts from depth of the belly, we honor the most sacred of lands, filled with the purest of hands, who cultivate the fruits of our lands.
From Madagascar, Solomon Islands, Bermuda and Guam; we are all fit to work up a sweat and parade from night to dawn.
Celebration is due for all the victories we as a people have been through.
The costumes and bands,filling the streets with a million reggae men.
In the heart of the city we pump iron love into the streets.
Where God placed Adam and Eve. Looked around and said it is well.
Dwelling amongst us, walking in the cool of the breeze, coming to see us, removing the burden on our knees, simply setting us free. Free from our mental agony of our loft thoughts, heavy, wounded, burdened souls.
The fine, fine girls decorated with beads, waiting to see the band-man jam, our biggest delightful, to remember how God brought day to our long night. Twinkling like the glistening evening sun, reflecting light upon on the black, volcanic beach sands. Absorbing the moon and energy of the sun, oh Jerusalem your morning has come.
What can a Caribbean King do to be free?
What man can live forever, he not overcome of evil, but he who overcomes evil with good shall establish themselves, boastfully like a strong horse we stand.
Leave me alone its time to cultivate our wealth, contradicting wealth, while time is tender, and the herbs have yet to wither.
Cultivate, harvest and prune the weeds, yielding sweet crops from once desert land. Building walls and houses sky high, drafting schools and universities for blacks to dwell. Laboratories, well built bridges, water towers and new found inventions.
Banks, to finance our exuberant wealth. Libraries with millions of shelves,books on geography, physics and health. The nations gathered around to tell here our stories well kept, line upon line, with truth flowing like a water well.
Gazing around through the eyes of the people, seeing pure amazement.
Entering through one of the 12 heavenly gates.
In God we trust, as he himself worshiped when he bent down in the African dust.
Inhaled Mount Zion’s breezy brush with all his family.
For a time in life he ran from colonialism so well.
Had a bounty on his head before he entered our realm.
Ravenous wolves entered the temple grounds, with a steady eardrum ringing sound.
On his knees, Jesus wept for his people after discovering our wells had been poisoned like Flint worldwide. Suffering was among the people, heavy burdened and withered from thirst, wavering in trust due to the biter food on earth.
Over and under the ground, came a Roman-Slavic king seeking to be crowned.
Trying to find “what is truth”, not knowing it’s in me and you.
To many outside of the covenant, it can appear like a spoof.
To those who aren’t a lover of truth. To all the people no longer amused by the wicked people in the inner group. Leave and let your love bee found, to the men who feel their chains loosening has heard the sound.
Lift yourself and rise above the ground. Open your mouths and proclaim your untold stories for all those gathered around.
Follow the drumming sound, stirring from the midst of the crowd.,
Drizzled in the morning dew, in the middle of the Zambezi river we can be cleansed from our sins residue.
Remove not the the monuments placed by ancient hands.
This is what God instructed to man, if you wish to dwell safe and eat the prosperity of the land.
Only demand three times for it to yield bountiful fruit without giving the earth a rest from serving you.
Even the land needs our helping hands, As God did not create this earth in vain but intend for man to inhabit and have dominion over all the plains.
Never again, and what is it to him if the flame be already lit?
Never again shall the Caribbean Kings and Queens be dethroned or hindered from expanding their territorial economic homes.
Up from the dust we came and out of the clay we built large castles on the edge of the sand bays.
So great, that God came down to see the works of our hands.
Upwards we lift our hands, praising Yah for the remnant of man to be spared.
Let us find grace and love our brothers face to face.
Blessed our the peace makers in the midst of this treacherous, cold-hearted generation. Forgive them father for they know not what they do and help us to forgive our debtors as you for give us of our debts too, as we cover the face of the earth.
Let’s toast to the fact that we are ready for love.
Like Malcolm X said “by any means necessary” we regroup and fortify our troops and remind ourselves the point of it all.
No longer do we beg like Moses did pharaoh at the feet of his throne.
But brick by brick we will lay up in gold, sapphire, onyx, ruby, diamonds, and jasper stones.
Bright blue-pearl Moroccan, stone castles for all our people to admire.
The concurring lion can never be dethroned.
We walk by faith, up to anyone, and slice whatever hand that hinders growth.
Madagascar is our home, the Cayman Islands,Bermuda, Trinidad, Tobago and Santo Domingo, all our turf.
No, we don’t belong to Belgium, the Dutch, British or French, tossed with a hint of Spanish mint; we can not be managed by these countries economy and business policies.
In Mexico and Puerto Rico we have established ourselves away from home.
Our Zulu warriors band together, in our tribal capoeira, fighting dance form.
Dancing to the drum, cymbals, swaying to the sound of us burning like a flame, fallen from the African sun.
What love we have for our Caribbean, African sons, born as Kings, forever and ever on the scene.
Like a dream we can’t quite retell, one upon a time we were horribly enslaved and denied our proper wealth.
Rise up Dominica, Guadeloupe, Cubagua, please try again Venezuela.
No matter how small in size, we all are able as a people making room for our neighbors.
Blessed are the persecuted, trampled and defiled for they shall inherit the earth and reign forever from the east to west and south to north coasts it is well.
Like a smooth river flow, like the breath in our lungs.
Thanks to the hate spread from Europe, Asia, minor and major, even in our own internal ranks we despised our savior.
We have so many reasons to continue to labor, even though the hour is at hand, we have yet to be paid or wages.
No man left behind, to the mainland with Margarita’s and three limes.
In a long line of dancers, with pure wool extending from the crowns of our skulls, blessed are the white adorned dancers.
Sin and blood we cleansed from our hands. In pure, royal, purple silk, and honey tinged satin sheets, intertwined with golden fabric, lavender, myrrh and orange fragrance. Yellow kicks with sardius stone rocks in the mix. Nigerian green emerald sheen, adorned fits as our style will always be lit.
Stretching our hands in prayer in the midst of the land we’ve come to over-stand.
As we past through we shall reclaim the land our ancestors cried while walking through, forced to depart and ignore our royal roots. While trudging across the earth we once knew, no longer vagabonds traveling through.
Life, Liberty, and Unity for the African, Caribbean man, women, and child. To learn the hidden ways of our sacred honorable King, who’s glory is extended as long as earth is gathered as a globe.
Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.
We are the salt of the earth, the light that at times was too bright for eyes to behold.
Given to the world as a collection of jewel stones, we honor the throne.
With a fine built city, set upon a hill not disclosed.
Like when Jesus cursed the fig tree, and God asked Isiah can these dry bones live?
We can die now but not again later, thy kingdom, thy power, thy glory forever and ever.
A prophetic poetic hymn for all to chime in, Let your light so shine before men; rise and ascend.
Scream Murderer and return to your rightful place on the throne.