Trinidad & Tobago
Renegades have lit their candles
in the night for Nosey in Brooklyn,
and on the hill by Desperadoes
for Bradley, who made his music
canticles against the guns of Laventille.
Overlooking Calvary, he caressed his muse
and ventured where only the brave dare
and whisperers bubble a black spoon.
Each season, when truth came
with the floods, the river overflowing
to the sea, this music would speak
of renewal. Drunk with light,
he would chase his shadow after
the sun set and the glory faded.
When old habits called, he answered
with music and straightened his back.
After the pretender was proclaimed
king, lifting his weary arms to steady
the glory, they found him in a state
next morning, asleep in a drain
in the suit from his coronation,
the lopsided crown on his head,
a dragon over him at the edge
of water. A man's days are
measured, his talents counted and
tendered in exchange for a hallelujah,
for rain to consume the hill, drenching
us with what sounds like an ovation.
- Dawad Philip -