Manhattan Bouquet

For Joseph, Nellie, Duma, Welcome, Thuli

And those I never knew in a land far away

Antebellum

Before the dread of death through H I V

Before the twins that rocked on fire and fell

Before the bankers drained portfolios 

   And all the wealth poured down the drain like mud

  And whites had all the brownstones gentrified

Herd of wildebeests ran wildly

Careless hooves along the Hudson

Shiver, though the spring approaches.

Down to New York City’s splendor.

Liz has located

A Manhattan condo with a huge round bed --

And a view of Lady Liberty! 

Waqaqazayla wazaba makaza.

Tonight think only Zulu song and movement!

Think unwitting dilettantes. 

A rusted bus through black neighborhoods

One rag-clad beggar hops on

To sing for coins in a can.

But we deny his income

Standing, singing and dancing in

Smooth kwa-Zulu warrior strides. 

The black man exits, outnumbered, outperformed.

The passengers cheer.

 As we step down a carjack is in progress

But ain’t cho business, just walk straight ahead. 

Turn left on West 125^th in Harlem

And gasp deep breaths of history --

  The hallowed marquee

  Plush seats

  Sensual red curtains 

The Apollo. 

Our tickets purchase the hope that

Apartheid will soon wither and die.   

Peaceful protest -- join the worldwide struggle! 

Sing banned Nkosi Sikelele

Afrika and free Mandela!

Mayabuye, Stephen Biko!

Names of praise!  Names of beauty!

Bekhizizwe Shabalala!

Ntombizanele Shabalala!

Duma Ndlovu!      uMabatha!

Welcome Msomi!   Thuli Dumakude!

Wild applause, conceit as rainfall

Tin roofs far away are deaf to

Happy fans of freedom from afar. 

But on we cheer, heedless, oblivious

We dream that this one act will suffice while

Black and calloused hands work the mines

  With no ovation, no encore. 

We find the narrow alley through the ripened

stench of urine, smoke and sweat.  It leads us

to the stage door behind the Apollo.

No guards protect them

So, up the stairs two at a time the

White girls

Shout “Saobona” and find

the dressing rooms.

Only to meet ten half naked black men. 

Shyly holding their shirts in front of them.

I bring a dozen red roses from

A thin street vendor. 

Hoping, settling for

One big Zulu kiss; sensual but totally professional 

While licentious, lonely Long Island Liz

Hopes to grab a guy

Who saves his “Little Brown One” for the right

Gujarati girl a decade later.

Within a few short years

Nellie will be murdered by greed

Joseph shot in the hand

Brothers murdered

The end of revolution is hard.

I take the fragrant wilting roses

Back onto the subway with me

And toss it onto the lap of

An off-guard reader

Who SCREAMS in terror!

With laughter we peal out and on

And on.

We stretch the ruddled threads that

Briefly bind us

    And are gone.  

Thula Khlizeo Nalapase kiya

Thula Khlizeo Nalapase kiya

Hey Kiya, Nalapase Kiya.

Hey Kiya, Nalapase Kiya.

Be still my heart.  Even here you are at home.