Sunrise -- Sunset

A glowing sky,
A sinking ball,
A slow flying seagull,
A canoe proceeding slowly toward shore,
The silent splash of the waves
Against the black rocks.
The shrill notes of a nestling bird,
The distant sound of a moving vehicle,
The hissing sound of
The night insects
And the rustling leaves.
Seen or heard.
They crown a fine day,
A sad day;
Yet be it what it was
The end is near
For the face of darkness is being revealed
Being heralded.
Slowly they all disappear.
Sky, bird, sun, canoe are seen no more
Only the sound of the splashing water
Against the rocks
And of the rustling leaves
Are heard
The Face of Darkness
Slowly unveils itself.


The gentle night breeze
Sweeps over the small sandy village
While the strums of a guitar
Resound somewhere as
Young voices in discordant notes
Chant a local folk song.

Flickers from kerosene lamps
Sip lazily through
Curtained windows and doors
Softly kissing the glistening branches
Of the palm leavres
Growing tall and strong.

On the shore the sea
Sings herself a song
As she slams against the moss covered rocks.
A pantless little boy runs to the river's edge
As the white-laced waves
Rush in and disappear in the dark.

The village grows quiet as
The guitar's throbbing beat
And the voices finally cease.
The silence takes over
Until tomorrow
When they will all be back.

The waters of the blue Caribbean
Rush towards the rocky shores
And disintegrates into a sheet of white
As it rushes back, after impact.

A bright tropic sun
Lazily crawls
Over the misty hills,
Brightening the sky
And all in its path.

A people
Rush about in their own contortions
And a new nation rises
And its people are reborn
As its children sing,
As its culture is expressed,
As its people struggle
For their Freedom,
And its people die
For their Freedom,
As its people herald
The coming light..


Look at me
Land once raped by the hands
Of war and slavery
Forraged by the deceitful hands
Of dishonest politicians.

With my blood
They've stained their hands
As they murdered the children of my womb.
Jacko, Bala,Mabouya and Philip.

My cultural heritage
They've almost buried
Verdent green forests they burn;
The Caribs they've scorned and rejected.

Look at me
Land made known to the Eurpeans
By Columbus
Over five hundred years ago.

Dominica, Dominique, Waitikubuli
Land wrecked by hurricanes,
Land, a victim of unscrupulous politicians
Land of water,
Of unique flora and fauna.

But before me I see
A new direction, a new road
Hopes of dreams, of a new people
A revived heritage, a proud nation
A United People..
And as the sun rises everyday
My hopes and aspirations grow stronger
Towards a New Day.