Sugar Cane Days
I sit in solitude in my room,
reminiscing of life back home,
when afternoons were spent on the back veranda
eating sugar cane and gyaffing[1] mommy
as the cool breeze of the Atlantic Trade Winds
blew across the earth.
From the trees,
rambunctious parrots squawked their approval,
but now the birds have been replaced
by the groaning of the N and W,
as the whirring metal beasts slowly pass my window
filled with people.
But I too often ride inside the belly of the beasts,
a prisoner of the steel cages
I chose to leave home for.
[1] gyaffing (Guyanese slang): immersed in conversation
