I cannot forget you, Haiti.
As I depart from your weeping shores,
I steal your salty air in my greedy lungs.
I smell nothing
but the scent of your sorrow and suffering.
The memory of your unique cuisine
resides permanently in my mouth.
Your sovereign soil
deeply embedded beneath my nails.
Home… I’m home…
yet you continue to haunt me.
The lines of my ageing hands
remind me of your dous granmoun.
I picture the hypnotic eyes of your little ones
as I glance in the eyes of my own.
I look at my lovely Denise,
remembering the mothers
who have seared my soul with scalding tears.
I have visions and I dream dreams.
I sit on my porch and rock
Looking deep into eternity.
I see your mountains green with hope,
Your gleeful boys teasing young coquettes
Who scream and laugh
Shaking the thousand sunlight ribbons
In their jet black braids.
I see your aged ones praising God,
Singing, swaying, smiling,
Dancing towards the setting sun.
A new order reigns in Haiti then,
Love and peace…
Justice and prosperity prevail.
And I, dear Haiti, perhaps too feeble
To journey to your glory days,
Will continue to sit on my Cuban chair
And rock… and rest… and sleep at last.
dous granmoun – sweet elderly people Ayiti’m – my Haiti