Gorffwysfa – her place of recovery –

From meeting grief at the flood-tide

This is where she began,
Amharic text in heart, Amharic text in hand,
As we live beneath the sun,
She was a warrior,
An Amazon without a gun.

…….

Sky was black as gold
Dragged across the sunless sea were we
By men without a soul:
Her stories and narrations,
Her lives as yet untold

Lost, deep in the stinking slave ship hold.

From these slave ships and from factories,
Amidst this freezing cold,
She heard the triumph of wizened men:
Men who’ve never seen the sun;
No wonders to behold.

Mean men are these counters,
These misers of the heart,
Their fractured souls’ inheritance
Is to live their lives apart
From this Abyssinian maid
They hoped was in her grave.

…….

Such long and false forgetting,
Of moons and seas and sunne,
Is lifted by the light of night:
In the heart where songs begun
Of damsels rare and golden
Who sing beneath the sun.

……….

As Coleridge once foretold

This journey has begun. .

There’s no return to normal

And winter is forever,

Her ashes set aside,

wait-in-line, learn to abide, wherever

time is of the essence,

but there’s nothing to be done;

every little thing is wasted,

and you’re left without a notion,

let her simple, lovingkindness,

Be your guide. 

.

 

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