swifter than time's in/breath
these darting prisms of colour  
these long dark running legs
licorice reeds of indigo music
sliding like sweet ointments
and old jazzmen chasing ebbs of memory
tears pouring down like salt from calabashes
of proud ancestors bent by malodorous slavers

salt

making the Atlantic fragrant once more
drowning out the stench of owned flesh
a swirl of manifold spectrum
toning colours in a dream for a finally human world
and the young girl...ah!
the streets belong to her reflection
which is us
her beauty; which is hers
which is us
the certainty of her speed
her enduring run

which is ours

© Kamaria Muntu, 2007
   (all rights reserved)