The African American Father
Ripped from the womb of mother Africa
The drums tell the story
Of a man beaten down
But would not die
Of a man chained and shackled
Still standing tall
With the yoke of slavery on his back
He was a mule
He was a plow
He was sugar cane and tobacco
Cotton and rice and indigo
The drums tell the story
They have been witness
To the rape of his mother
By creatures who never believed in God
They’ve heard the screams
And drank the tears
That have become the salt of this Earth
But this man would not die
Whipped and beaten and castrated
Just for fun
This man was bleeding to death
In a puddle of his own waste
No name no face no life
Just a Black thing
To produce more Black things
To make White things better
The drums tell the story
Of how he tried like Harriet
To talk to the trees
Consult with the stars and the moon
To return once again to his greatness
But he was separated from his family
And forced into a battle
Against himself
And the African pride he wore on his heart
But his woman turned away
The children didn’t know him
And his name became foreign
But he would not die
The drums tell the story
Each beat is reminder of who he is
A master of sound
A lover of life
The torch and the blackness
The sun and the rain
Each child he sees is his child
And they come to him
With open arms
And smiling faces
Feeling the traces of his history in themselves
This man will always be a father
Standing tall like a lighthouse
For other men to see
And find their way back home
Abiodun 6-20-12
- Abiodun Oyewole’s Open House with African-American Poets - 10/01/2021
- The African American Father - 06/21/2020
- The Responsibility of the African American Athlete - 06/12/2020