ART@HOWARD  |  LIBRARY  |  HU HOME  


Faces&Voices


AN ANTHOLOGY
OF VERSE, PROSE

AND ART

by
the Composition
for Honours Class,
Howard University,
2001-200
2

  Contents
  Authors & Artists
  Home

E. R. BRAITHWAITE
Professor

Faces & Voices 4
Faces & Voices 5



Sad Eyes   >> Artwork
Karen Norman
Trinidad & Tobago - Marketing

A dark time is coming,
the dark time is here.
It was the twilight hour.
Intermittently, there is the crackling of fire,
the sounding of a gunshot
followed by a thick, misty, white powder.
We rise out of the dust,
one by one.
An army of Fallen Angels
bequeath to no one.
We are the children of the Hills

From empty holes,
and decrepit walls,
we litter the roads
scavenging for salvation.
Born into depravity,
We seek to be repatriated
from the sadness that has been rooted in to our veins.
Residing in a state of imperfection,
we are the Ghetto children.

If you could only see into me,
eye me actuality,
you will behold,
all the broken promises,
all the callous lies.
You will descry these sad eyes.
It is my sorrow that makes a slave of me,
forcing me to cry out,
this melancholic melody.
To remedy my spirit

We have crossed the bridges of sorrow,
carrying bags of chapfallen dreams,
that dispel the light of tomorrow.
We move forward,
yet the path is receding
leaving us stagnant,
encapsulated in a time glass,
where our fears keep on resurrecting.
Life has touched us with pain,
so we change,
becoming strangers to our identity.
So we travel life's path,
all alone, companionless,
ostracized to the sea of nothingness.
It is hard to find faith,
in a world that you have lost sight of.
 But,
what happens when that world has lost sight of you
and your dreams and hopes
 rise like an ocean
and reveals,
only the abrasive, contempt of society?

If you could only see into me,
eye me actuality,
you will behold,
all the broken promises,
all the callous lies.
You will descry these sad eyes.
It is my sorrow that makes a slave of me,
forcing me to cry out,
this melancholic melody.
To remedy my spirit.

I know what it means to be hungry.
I know how it feels to be lonely.
At fourteen, I carried my father's baby.
Death countenance,
is no longer my adversity.
It is where I find my solitude.

If you could only see into me,
eye me actuality,
you will behold,
all the broken promises,
all the callous lies.
You will descry these sad eyes.
It is my sorrow that makes a slave of me,
forcing me to cry out,
this melancholic melody.
To remedy my spirit.

Tonight as I stand outside in the cold,
peeping through your bedroom window,
I lull your spirit to mine.

Do you fell my lumbago
 as my aches and pains take center stage?
I think you do!
You jolt from your sleep
and are awaken to hear the cries from the Ghetto.

Tonight you find yourself
lying on wooden boards,
that serve as your bed. You find yourself
covered by soiled sheets,
with no pillow to rest your head.
You realize that you are me,
The Ghetto child,
Iniko- born in trouble times

If you could only see into me,
eye me actuality,
you will behold,
all the broken promises,
all the callous lies.
You will descry these sad eyes.
It is my sorrow that makes a slave of me,
forcing me to cry out,
this melancholic melody.
To remedy my spirit.

My cup overflows.
It is full to the brim.
I am a depository of emotion.
I am the King of Sorrows.


© 2002 Howard University
(First Published in limited print edition, An Anthology of Verse, Prose & Art, by the Composition for Honours Class, Howard University, Spring 2002. Professor E.R. Braithwaite)
HOWARD UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES, 500 Howard Place, NW, Washington, DC 20059.  Phone (202) 806-7234.