poem: to the diaspora by gwendolyn brooks

you did not know you were Afrika

 

when you set out for Afrika

you did not know you were going

Because

you did not know you were Afrika

you did not know the Black continent 

that had to be reached

was you.

 

I could not have told you then that some sun

would come,

somewhere over the road

would come evoking the diamonds

of you, the Black continent--

somewhere over the road

You would not have believed my mouth.

 

When I told you, meeting you somewhere close

to the heat and youth of the road

liking my loyalty, liking belief,

you smiled and you thanked me, but very little believed me

 

Here is some sun. Some.

Now off into the places rough to reach.

Though dry, tough drowsy, all unwillingly a-wobble,

into the dissonant and dangerous crescendo.

Your work, that was done, to be done to be done to be done.

 

 

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