From Here to There Uneven Steps Marking Time
By Clement WhiteAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2017 Clement White
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5462-1862-3Contents
Acknowledgements, xv,
Introduction, xix,
PART I,
Uneven Steps To Nowhere, 1,
Inscription, 2,
Un Inspired Muse, 3,
The Backbone, 5,
Obamafrica, 7,
The American Refugees, 9,
Darkened The Firmament, 11,
Swinging Door, 12,
Door For Invited Guests, 14,
Inevitability, 16,
Catapult, 18,
Un Flinching Eyes, 20,
Disconnection, 22,
Myafrica, 24,
Unspeakable Silence, 26,
Unbreakale Cycle, 27,
(Un) Coded, 29,
Voicing Truth, 32,
African Haven, 33,
Truth Eternal, 35,
Fragmentation, 36,
New Search, 37,
Introspection, 38,
Authentication, 39,
Dream-Like State, 41,
True Humanity, 42,
Far Away, 43,
The Ultimate Game, 45,
Por Fin, 47,
Finally, 48,
Esencia Cubana, 50,
Cuban Essence, 51,
Ascendencia, 53,
Ancestry, 53,
Brain Games, 55,
Right Frequency, 57,
Nación Unica, 58,
Unique Nation, 58,
Cubafrica, 60,
Cubafrica, 60,
Reflexión, 62,
Reflection, 63,
PART II,
Tic-Tock, 67,
Protect The Land, 69,
Place Of Love, 71,
Trusted Friend, 73,
All Ours, 75,
Return Policy, 77,
Hat Of Tricks, 79,
Power Of Illusions, 81,
Shall The First Be Last?, 82,
Story Retold, 86,
Joie De Vivre, 89,
The Witnesses, 90,
Endless Quest, 92,
Fortification, 94,
Inverted Freedom, 95,
Journey Of The Mind, 97,
Non Instructions, 98,
Permutations, 99,
Trick Mirrors, 100,
Independence, 101,
The Fire Within, 102,
Un Liberated, 103,
The Last Will Without Testament, 104,
Celestial Encounter, 105,
Garden Of Eden, 108,
Reconfiguration, 110,
The Spies, 111,
Winding Road, 113,
Unsealed Record, 115,
Second Chance, 116,
Oilinone, 117,
GENTLE BREEZE OF un HUMAN KIND ness, 119,
The Quiet Street, 120,
The Dwelling Place, 122,
At Last WMD, 126,
Toys Not For Boys, 128,
Freedom Request, 130,
The Head Of Normalcy, 131,
Stealth For Good Health, 132,
The Secret Club, 133,
You Belong To Her, 135,
My Original Inner Truths, 136,
CHAPTER 1
Uneven Steps To Nowhere
Broken stairs protruding outward
Result of inexact architecture
Zigzagging stairs
destiny unsure
Signaling by their mere style
Guarantees of uneven steps
Proof of lapsing seconds and moments
Lost within the frenzy of designated
Yet unassigned inevitabilities,
Splintered stairs with their
Suggested upward motion in a
Fierce drive to stand still,
Motionless stairs
Still stairs
Still symbolically ascending and descending
In a paradoxical game of confusion,
And illusion
Where contradictory motions
Lay claim to movement control, stairs so fractured
They baffle those using them
As guide,
Unsure stairs
Uneven steps
Quickly moving
Rushing
Nowhere
Inscription
Sobbing sounds awoke me,
unstructured silhouette imbedded
in the wall beckons me
I refused to approach that wall
where countless acts of nature
are repressed by time's coarse hands,
amid sobbing sounds with my name sporadically
echoed,
Dexterity is the name of
nature's cantankerous clock
bearing markers of life's rugged pathways
Sobbing sounds continue to
urge me on,
in an earnest frustrated moment,
a moment of anxiety,
footsteps leading to the wall
create a trail for me to follow
the singular pathway to
the wall with its
tell-tale signs,
The wall that sits motionless
directing all to scale it
in search of
unwritten diaries of unspeakable truths
Un Inspired Muse
The Muses ran wild, laughing,
dancing at the process of creativity
that they promised to encourage,
They danced and smiled, these creatures of
Inventions,
Then turned deadly serious,
no longer serene,
No longer pacific,
The Muses ran wild in directions
undetermined and arbitrary
having seen for themselves the
new creators and
inventors giving birth
to other worlds
The Muses witnessed the birth,
the mothers,
the fathers
the creators
inventors
looked intently at their new offspring
And the Muses, symbols of inspiration,
chafed and squirmed at the thought of the
new creations,
They ran wild, the Muses
and yielded in
spirit to the new creations
and creators
and the contortionists of the New World,
alien to the Muses
with their characteristic trait of inspiration and hope
The Backbone
Tireless mothers, defiant,
yet forgotten,
names obliterated in the midst of the
unforgiving ocean tides,
History labels you obedient
passive
submissive,
clear mischaracterizations,
concoction of HISstory
Truth endlessly purged
Pained MOTHERS bitterly aware of
the activities below in the holes
of destruction,
the den of doom,
MOTHERS,
suffering witnesses of
instrumentations of death,
MOTHERS, bearers of life,
Lives snatched before
your eyes,
wretched acts of legality,
A cruel joke enjoyed only by the
pranksters on the boats of hell,
the dungeons, infernos of the
boats of your destiny and
the destiny of yours,
moans
groans
pain,
loss of consciousness in a place of no
conscience
loss of mind
all come together as one
in a unifying scent of degrading perfume
reserved for the woman still desperately
determined to rescue those around her,
headed as she was across the seas to a
glorious life in the Americas
Obamafrica
Obama
President of the Greatest Nation
Stood
At the Door of No Return,
And sighed
Emotionally drained by the thought of souls
Sent to death camps
Under the guise of God's love,
Human cargo neatly packaged to be
Bartered
Bargained
Negotiated, haggled
To the winners, possessors of the
Highest value capital,
The President stood in awe of souls
Left behind who were "spared"
The arduous journey, their newly concocted names
Omitted arbitrarily from the manifests
Of the souls of the death camp,
Metonymed by the Door of No Return,
The President felt the emotion
No other President ever felt
Because Africa runs through and through
His veins,
Inextricably linked to Kenya,
One of Africa's greatest nations and preserver of sacred truths,
Obama spoke truth,
Given wisdom
By the spirits of the departed souls
From the Gorée Island
Who looked back,
And there was a tear in the eye of each
Man
Woman
Child,
A tear for the non-departed,
Departing nonetheless to the halls of death,
Those destined to stay
Shed tears, one for each
Man
Woman
Child
Shackled in the ships with their own
Dungeons,
Safe and
Secured in the jars of pending death,
Many tears were shed as brothers
And sisters,
Mothers, fathers, locked gazes,
And we saw the residue tears in the eyes
Of the only President
Bold enough to imagine the realities
Of a sordid history that allows him
Tangency
The American Refugees
They walk the streets
now called refugees,
strangers in their own land,
a land never really theirs,
rebuffed by policies,
too subtle to unravel,
unspoken rules unchanged by
time
They roam the streets,
the highways,
the byways,
defying destiny
defying the history
that marked them,
defying death
whose pathway
is facilitated by policies
too subtle to pinpoint
unspoken rules of time
Babies crying,
distressed by hunger,
No consciousness of gales,
of strong deadly winds
of breaking levees,
Just tears linked to the
absence of milk,
of food
of sustenance
Mothers, fathers,
once rebuffed by humans
Now pleading to cameras
on behalf of screaming
babes
pleading in the night,
at sunrise,
in vain
as society's unspoken rules once
again
dictate the fate
of those
linked to the country's
refugee camps,
camps formed not by Katrina,
but by traditions' pernicious and
unpardonable ways
Darkened The Firmament
Opaque skies overlooking seas
That harbor secrets
So ancient, so real,
Secrets perhaps never to be revealed,
The channels of the seas, their numerous
passageways blocked by the sheer gravity of the secrets
mutter unfamiliar sounds in codes
Telegraphed by the same seas
Laying dormant beneath
the heaven's opaque skies
That bore witness at every point
But could not speak the secrets of the reality
unfolding unabashedly in full view,
The darkened skies,
Once translucent and bright
but now darkened and transformed
By suffocating secrets
and
By the burden of the silence of
History
Swinging Door
Door opened
Inviting you to taste freedom
On the shores of the Americas,
Escape the dungeons,
Dingy quarters,
Suites designed especially
For you
Senegalese
Ghanaian,
Child
Woman
Man,
Who opened the door to
Your freedom in lands of strangers,
Of shackles,
Of whips that will intimately
Claim your backs?
Iron brands spelt your name as
"B-E-A-S-T.
Who opened the door,
Gateway to Hades
To spare you the asphyxiating
Confinement in your fortress
in the vessel's bosom
where fresh excrement
is the least of your worries?
The church above sings praises
To God
"Thank God for whom all blessings flow,"
They raise their voices in unison,
Voices of glorification, more cacophonic
Than the moans blending with them
In the most intense historic moments of torture,
"God bless the child" beams the choir
close enough to
the auction site
as voices of hypocrisy shocked no one
awaiting the torture chamber in the depths,
in the bellows of hell,
Who opened the door, Senegal,
and announced
once and for all:
"No Return?
Door For Invited Guests
Go seek fortune,
go seek fame in the lands
that will save you from eternal
damnation in the dungeons
that still smell
of blood, of gore,
of mutilated souls.
Babies too weak to cry,
Sucking milk of blood from
Diseased breasts
What generous hands opened that gate, Ghana?
Of no negotiation
Of no debate
Of No Return?
Pack your bags, lucky ones
Give thanks to the
Selection committee,
Who deemed you sufficiently fit
For the journey, across the waters,
To the Caribbean,
To my Virgin Islands?
Sing along with the choir of doom in the
Church from above
My ancestors, winners of the
Freedom lottery!
Who opened that door at Cape Coast Castle
Where bloodied waters have not
Been totally diluted?
No doubt you bade farewell
Hugged and kissed
My other family, left frozen
In blood
In the dungeons where narratives of
Truths were written
Who guaranteed this voyage, Ghana?
Who opened the door,
Senegal?
Who opened the door, Africa,
And in so doing revealed their humanitarian side?
Sparing you the suffering in the pits of hell,
Assuring your one way trip
To Hades,
While the choir above sang
"Hallelujah" and
"May God bless the child!
Inevitability
I think of Kenya
Majestic, regal nation
Unique cultures
Amazing peoples,
Proud and strong
Fighting with might
Against colonialism,
Aimed at appropriating
The nation's traditions and
Cultures,
Kenya, the protagonist of my
Dreams
Imagining being in your presence,
Connecting with what I know
Is somehow connected to me,
Kenya shaking off the weight
Of endless colonial projects
Opting for the protection of its
People, its place
Its customs and cultures,
I think ancestry and move ever
So closer to trying to unravel
The riddles and mysteries of
My own identity
Unsure of history's zigzagged course
In shaping me, in molding me,
In determining me,
I think and envision Kenya
Linked to me
Potential ancestral home in the complicated
Map of history, pinpointing geographical
"truths"
But unable to lay bare the rugged roads
That lead to the origin of other stories
So vibrant, so poignant, so piercing,
Hence I dream of this country
Distant in geographical space from me
But lurking securely in the most
Reserved spaces of my subconscious
Making me a child of Africa
A son of that glorious nation
Rich in ways that I cannot quantify,
I think of Kenya and place myself comfortably
In the security of its bosom.
Catapult
Each present moment historicizes me
I must live the present but I have no choice
But to communicate with the past
Seeking insight, clarity,
Trying to unravel moments that
Offer the most enduring lessons,
Life's soldiers often detest the past
For its immutable pattern,
Its rigid chronology,
Life's subjects condemn the past
For its incompetence
Its impotence
Its indifference
I seek the past, but to get there
I must choose the present with
Its bumpy roads, its scary precipice
Its treacherous side ramps
Unnegotiable mountains and valleys,
I seek to participate in
Life's Olympics
Not as a sprinter
But as a distant runner
To run nonstop in the direction
where I know history awaits me
where true secrets are revealed
where real identities stand out
Each step in the opposite direction
Is a moment of
Enlightenment
Empowerment
Each step back is a step
Forward to the present
To the future
In the muddled spaces where
The present suffocates itself,
I breathe freely, though,
Perhaps feeling welcomed
By history's invitation,
History knows that I stand at the
Door and knock,
No longer its prisoner
When I see the door finally ajar
That signals
That for me there is still a chance
To find my way back there
To learn lessons never taught
When we became apathetic role players
In the crossword puzzle of life
Un Flinching Eyes
Eyes looking at me looking at them,
Who are those people known within my soul,
But unknown to me?
Sad eyes staring,
Guarding secrets that neither of us will tell,
Science invited History to merge,
to become partners in forensics,
history shrugged and
declared itself supreme,
leaving me staring at
faces interested in me,
Eyes across the seas, occasionally glance at the
scenes of the events,
protected crime scenes,
guarded by detectives: MASTERS,
specializing in acts of disappearance,
specialists in the arts of evidence suppression,
Eyes staring at me,
I was seen by them before,
perhaps at that point of NO RETURN,
or last seen running scared from
others unknown to me
Unhappy eyes shedding tears
at the failed union of History and Science
Resulting in my orphanage,
I put out a call to D N A,
that laughed uncontrollably
at the thought of fusing with history
in solving the riddle
of the eyes that can't blink,
Faces with eyes fixed on me blush,
I now see my blood highlighted in their veins
in the contours of the facial twists,
signs of the twists of fate
Eyes beckoning me to come closer,
become tools of solid science,
in the most unscientific way,
piercing deep within my soul,
reconstructing histories well-preserved,
mummified within the deepest recess of my identity
Eyes stare at my eyes and my eyes reciprocate,
and invisible signals confirm that
we see the identical prints of the D N A,
Eyes that know me intently stare at me
I now know the truth
Disconnection
Appendages,
Attached to banality's ways,
Souls groping in the night
In search of lights designed
To give directions,
Designed to bring
Back on course detached appendages,
Souls aimlessly making their
Way in the most pronounced
Moments of the night,
Incomplete selves
Dependent on rumors of truth,
Rumors of self-reliance,
Of independent appendages
Affixed to life's course
Roving bands of eyewitnesses
Spew out ceaseless venom
Of disclaimers,
Rejecting their own
Complicity in life's Game,
Attachment and detachment
Accomplished in a choreographed
Wild dance of the participants,
Seeking refuge in the bosoms
Of their own lost souls,
Frenzied dances of the implicated
Without pauses
Frenetic dances of the
Fragmented souls
Seemingly trying to detach
Themselves with no success,
Confusion reigns as the appendages
Themselves complicate the
True role of the lost souls,
Appendages now complacent
In their designated state
Move further and further
Away from the ultimate
Integration of the
Constructed self,
An act so brazen
It renders complete chaos
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