NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2013 - Page 128

By ETNAIRIS RIBERA from First New York 2013 Blues Sing, Mother The blues is not seeing you; not drinking the sap of the most ancient religion, life. Sing, Mother. The one who clouds the seas, Bravo to the blues that fuels the flame, bravo to your earthly figure that lures me and lifts me, to the wind that drives you. For the wind, my mantra, for me, your lips that lead me, your mouth that crosses the geography of my body. Not kissing you is the blues, the faraway sea of the south is the blues, the journey without your kiss. the one who usurps the earth, the one who denies us the fruit, the one who burns the woods and wounds the natives, it tears apart, it doesn’t know; the one who orders the bombs chews up cruelly a language that has mourned. Sing, Mother, glow and sing. Don’t abandon us to the snakes that threaten to engulf our heads while we sleep the sleep of centuries and chains. 126 Sing and kiss us and return to us God, the one who seems to forget. BRN-FALL-2013.indb 126 9/13/13 12:48 AM