Poetry African Drums

African Drums

African Drummer

African drums, African drums
Something 'bout your culture hums.
Must be your people, must be your time.
Must be the rhythm of your feet beating rhyme.
Yet, would you believe the truth of this fact
That some wish to send your ancestors back.

They think that somehow this world's better bred
If ebony and ivory is divided instead.
Just a thought there away, past the oceans blue line;
Separated and solitary, its division so fine,
That the echo of color is lost in its sea.
Each singular shade left alone then to be.
As each is remembered in the print of some page
Crumpled and yellow and fading with age.
Left empty and dying in one's memory
As the ocean waves on in tranquility.

African drums, African drums
Something 'bout your culture hums
Must be your jungles, must be your rain
Must be your wildlife, your forests and plains.

Certainly citizens you all must agree
That there's both good and bad in the fruit of a tree,
That a baby is born and a man comes to be
And his mind and his heart is his own, can't you see?
And neither belongs to a color or creed,
Both good and bad in humanity's seed.
For all people, all colors, all faiths, yes, all men -
Have their light and their wisdom, their darkness and then
They fumble and stumble, rise, fall and sing
It's their own souls, which are tolling, the bells that we ring.

African drums, African drums
Something 'bout your culture numbs.
Must be the fact, that we'll cease to be.
Must be the split in humanity,
With a nation of black and a nation of white.
Each then to stumble and fall in man's night,
And understanding and compassion simply won't be.
If each is a brewing their own cup of tea
Yes, separate cups of humanity.

Big Kettle Drum

African drums, African drums
Something 'bout your culture hums.
African drums African drums
Something 'bout your culture numbs.

May 21, 1970

By
Lady LaMythica (Linda A. Copp)