Eureka Shabazz

A Tale of Moulge Rouge

A swirling breeze filtered thru the half-opened window
mingling with the scent of the red rose that lay next to her
silk red lingerie.

Love is in the air

Half-dressed Rosita danced and sang to her mantric song
Red-Red Wine whilst sipping a glass of chardonnay.
Her waist-length hair swayed in motion brushing softly against the pit of her back
as her hips moved slowly and gently in rhythm.

Love is in the air

Her bronze-red skin shone
Sweat dripped down the nape of her neck.
She was hot.
Sultry hot and the night air called her.
That night the sun had left remnants of a red sky.

And love was in the air

Her slinky red dress slid smoothly over her head
down over her bare breasts resting briefly on her thighs
and then settled just below her knees
She eased her feet into her red-sling-back shoes
and stroked her long smooth shaven legs teasingly.

Love was in the air

As she sauntered through the streets of the red light district
Someone shouted,
“Empress.  Empress.”
Another shouted,
“Whore.”
She smiled radiating the warmth of the sun not fazed at all
Red-eyed people stared.

Tongues wagged
Men lusted and women too!
She was still quietly singing Red Red Wine.

And love was in the air

Music blared out from the over-filled restaurants that lined the streets.
Helium-filled Valentine balloons levitated inside and out.
Rosita sat in a cosy corner near the window
caressing a tiny rosebud with her fingertips.

Love is in the air

“Madam would you like to order?”
Was the question that brought her back from her day-dream.

A cordon bleu menu tantalised her senses.

Red Pea Soup with Roti

Red Snapper served with Jollof Rice and Red Peppers
and a
Selection of Salads

or

 Chilli peppered Red Herrings
Sweet Potatoes
And
Salad
Served with a glass of chilled house wine.

Pitted red cherries with sorbet
or
 Trifle with Sherry

She ate alone.

In the distance volatile tempers frayed
Rage seemed to filter its way through the streets
tainting the Valentine moment

But love was in the air

Rosita’s blood-soaked body was found slumped in a heap
Her legs still parted like the Red Sea
Her fiery temper showed signs that she had put up a struggle
but had sadly lost.

That morning the newspaper headlines read:-

‘Red flag to a bull!
Red neck suspected of murder in District
but not charged’

Now only red-tape hung in the hot scented air like the spirit of Rosita.

But love was still in the air

BULLIED IN STEREO

Jostling in crowded corridors
with the sounds of bantering provocation
chewing gum whisks past unexpected passers-by’s
while crisp packets are tossed to the wayside.
Rucksack’s laden with folders and P.E kits
as aching shoulders struggle to maintain their hold
and teachers hover with an air of authority in their
dictatorial roles.

In the corner
a reverberated sound echoes
with dominance and power
like hails of bullets raining from an overhead shower.

OI! YOU
YOU FIRST YEAR
GIVE US YOUR DINNER MONEY
WHERE’S YOUR MONEY?
EMPTY YOUR POCKETS
COME ON. COME ON YOU
HAND OVER YOUR MONEY.
I SAID,  COME ON!

Standing there with the fear
dripping like icicles melting from a rock-faced edge.
My armpits sweat
and sweat I said.
I want to stare
but I lower my head to the ground
to ward off those reverberated sounds.

My mouth went dry
and parched with the fear
I stood there with a frozen stare.
My feet were like jelly
meandering on a wobbly plate
and my stomach ached
in a regurgitated state.
My breath became shallow like a fish gasping for air
and I licked my lips
hyperventilating with no air to spare.

Around me
those reverberated sounds
echoed with dominance and power
like hails of bullets raining from an overhead shower

OI ! YOU
YOU  IN YEAR EIGHT
DIDN’T YOU HEAR US
WE WANT YOUR MONEY.  NOW!
WE’LL GET YOU AFTER SCHOOL
OUTSIDE WE MAKE THE BULLY-BOY RULES!

My hands tremble like a leaf
blown by the rush of the wind.
In my pockets the sound of money
amplifies like a fruit machine loosing

OI! YOU
YOU IN YEAR NINE
WAIT UP!

On me
those reverberated sounds
echoed with dominance and power
like hails of bullets raining from an overhead shower.

HE SAID
SHE SAID
THEY SAID
HOW MUCH YOU GOT?
THANKS.
SAME TIME AGAIN? TOMORROW OR ELSE!

In side me
the memories of
those reverberated sounds
echo with dominance and power
like hails of bullets raining from an overhead shower

I trod carefully in the corridors
quickening my steps
ducking and diving and hiding
from want  might comes next
Vulnerable and exposed
everyone knows
it’s so loud and clear
that I’m  being

OI!  YOU !
YOU IN YEAR TEN
WAIT UP
WE’RE BACK!

From a distance
those reverberated sounds
now echo with laughter, dominance, strength, and more power
like hails of bullets raining from overhead showers.

For me,
It’s so loud and so clear
that I’m being
BULLIED IN STEREO

The Spirit of Ken Saro-Wiwa Speaks
The Manifesto of Truth

Lest you not forget your purpose
Lest you not enter into the realms of deceit and corruption
but stand firm in your beliefs and in truth
The consciousness of man will lead to greater pathways
to those who wish to see
Those that know and understand, stand up to what is truth
It is the truth that will forever set you free

Because sorrow will never hurt so much as now

Search your hearts and minds as you awaken
from your comatose slumber
Ask questions of yourselves and search deep
in the very recesses of your soul
Know that life lived today is accountable tomorrow
Question what you, as a people, have become
Ask yourselves, ‘who can we blame?’
Answer. But only ourselves

Since sorrow could never hurt so much as now.

Souls consumed by greed
Hearts cold without compassion
Hands tainted with blood
Minds drowning in the darkness of corruption
as it weaves its way through the veins of man
like yards of coarse twine
destabilising the infrastructure
breaking down the land once built on the
blood and sweat of our Ancestors

We know sorrow could never hurt so much as now

Nostrils still breathe the stench of death
of our forefathers, our foremothers,
our fathers, our mothers and our children
Whilst our eyes witness the wealth of the land
that was stolen and ravaged by Pirates, Bandits,
Roman Catholics and Christians,
who cunningly brandished  the bible and the gun

We know that sorrow could never hurt so much as now

A Continent still being pillaged
A land becoming a wasteland littered with dead bodies
like discarded animals
Remember what the eyes see the heart always feels
And what the heart feels the eyes cannot hide

Knowing this, sorrow could never hurt so much as now

Know this though!
Deeds have to be paid
and recompense sought
For Justice is not ours alone
For in the world of injustice
Balance has to be restored
And will be

Let us know, that sorrow could never hurt so much as now

Remember
Spirit Sees
Spirit Hears
Spirit Knows
Spirit speaks
For those who delude themselves with the notion that
things have changed;
they have not!

We, the Ancestors watch in silence
We too once walked the pathways of
oppression and suppression and still we weep
We are more than saddened at what we, us you, have become.

We, the Ancestors whisper,
“How many seasons will we have to wait until
our people awaken to their greatness?”
How many lives will be lost through dis-ease?
How many of you will slay your own brothers?
How many of you will succumb to corruption?
How many of you will know the truth of the West
and do something about it?
How long will we have to wait for change?
Two thousand seasons?
 Three thousand seasons?

How long?
How long?

We wait patiently to be called.
Called to do our works
Even to this to day you all have forsaken Us
abandoning the Old Traditional Ways
and coveting the New.
The New will not save You.
 You can be sure of that

So, hear this,

I, The Spirit of Ken Saro-Wiwa
SPEAKS

Remember,
For us, Freedom, Equal Rights and Justice
had to be fought for
and died for
So let me say this,

Sorrow has never hurt so much now

Eureka Shabazz is blessed to be a mother of four children and grandmother of seven. She is a qualified Social Worker and Social Scientist and a part-time student, with a passion for poetry. She has performed poetry in Martinique, Barbados, Scotland, New York, London and Glastonbury! She is a published writer with works in several anthologies. She is also passionate about health-related issues and has published a book called Ancestral Healing Revelations (2003) which explores issues of health and spiritual wellbeing, which has been sold in Chicago, Atlanta, Los Angeles and the UK. She is an Herbalist/Reiki/Sekhem Healer.

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