Poems by Prosper Sylvain Jr (a.k.a. Makendal)
She artificially inseminated my third eye with her essence
gave herself her own name and stated her presence
rose from her own fiery incense
stepped off of planes and boats onto new shores
expanding the minds of limited corridors.
With headwraps
and fingers, naps, fingersnaps,
incense, mystical decadence and spoken words,
with oils and candles and rocks and all
sorts of minerals,
she was the catalyst for mental slavery’s funeral
with locks and caramel, café au lait,
milk chocolate complexions and deep reflections
she brought her manifestation of self into reality,
crossing her would be a calamity.
Lack of comprehension barricaded the flames of her soul
but her intense heat seemed to swallow you whole.
She was no longer maid, restavek, bonne or Caribbean Aunt Jemima
and it was apparent that nothing could stop her.
Runaway train destined for a repetition of greatness
she said to hell with the entire world’s lateness
no longer wanted to be girlfriend and/or mistress…
She was “master of her own dew” and destiny
calling her anything else was your own blasphemy.
She possessed the warmth of the sun,
the depth and vastness of the universe
her beauty left a lasting impression of a curse
to my eyes
begging you to know more than the crossroads of her thighs.
Her eyes,
deep like the rivers of my Haitian land
running shivers through the burning sands
of my desert and deserted mind.
She spoke languages once thought long gone and dead,
made love to her man while drums were playing,
only third eye consciousness knew what she was saying…
She forced Roumain, Durand, Coicou, Etienne to invoke her in lyrics
Depestre, Tiga and Leroi compared her to spirits!
She was the real sister that was born from the drum
the one sister who knew where she came from
She took emotions once buried deep in the cemetery
of Haitian man’s subconscious prison,
set them all free on her conscious caramel horizon
and as Haitian man’s hands swept her hair I could tell
she was filled with the rivers of her sweet Jacmel.
I caressed her skin, smooth and dark
I was taken back to the hills of St. Marc
bent my knee to caress her feet
and tasted the sweetness of Artibonite,
only this woman could make me complete.
Even when she was wearing a weave
she looked like a Kreyòl Queen from Gonaïves
breasts and thighs that seemed to fill
all of the streets of Pétionville
with a voice and tongue that seemed soft and pure
she became my erotic cure
saliva as sweet as kremas, thick and smooth,
this sister was more of my groove.
She said “Brother let’s go take over the world,
let’s go recapture our island pearl”,
so with her by my side I grabbed my machete
we turned chains into red, white and blue confetti
stood our mother on her feet and washed her face
declared to the whole entire human race
that this is on what the Haitian man and woman are based.
She read books on revolution
revolutionized books on love
and womanhood,
to make sure she was understood
in high heels or boots, dresses or jeans
she evoked and invoked “by any means”
in every one of her forced missteps
she was filled with mathematical-metaphysical concepts
that she could rip stars down from black night’s sky,
and place them in her black as night eyes,
the universe was born between her thighs!
She milked the moon of its light, she turned day into night
filled the universe every morning with her breath
blinded the sun when she emitted her luminescence
and illuminated any black hole with her majestic presence.
Every Egyptian hieroglyph and ancient drum,
nago and ibo, asòtò and congo
every griot’s song
emitted themselves from the locks of her hair,
she could make a shooting star stop and just stare.
She had a beauty and strength that was founded in spine
and she was the sweet sip of a connoisseur’s aged wine
Her voice could raise the dead
and her heart could feed the unfed
I told her that I have left the cities of Gomorrah for the cities of Solommon,
I want to rebuild myself as the new Jerusalem
I want to tap into the richness of the Haitian man’s powers mentally
and I want to know that somewhere along the line eventually
we can dance a freedom dance together
we can fight through any weather
we can heal our people naturally
we can heal each other mentally
we can fix our country politically
respect each other religiously
without sarcasm or facetiously,
we can raise the dead as in dead minds
and look deep inside the confines
of our selves for richness
so that one day we can witness
Haitian Man and Woman for eternity
living for once in loving Unity
seeing each other not by color or length/straightness of hair
not by class or the cars that we drive
and wear as social medals
No!
Haitian Man and Woman for eternity
living for once
as one
in loving Unity!
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