Jamaica, Jamaica

By Paul A. Bourne


Jamaica
Jamaica
thou art the eye of the Caribbean
a hub of purity created by slaves
like a dream ye daughters of Western Civilization
stand in the midst of battle
in durability's youth and wait for the eyes of
him who thirst for sceneries.
My love
My love for thee
was born on the pages
of Civics for Young Jamaica
because of proud
men and women of valour
who fought beyond speeches - for justice,
equality and togetherness.
That blood, their spirits
stain the corridors of our yesterday
and form the catalysts for today's paradise.

Jamaica
Jamaica
thou art with many queens
for they stir a love for thy shores
that read in distant lands.
They blossom in the morning dew
in oils of thy forefathers'
grace, special beings.
But thou hast changed thy yesterday
like mammals of old that transcended not.
I see a new generation
twisting to the bourgeoisies' music,
clothe in raiment of Eve, tagged,








drumming to the rhythms of transformation
and void of the doctrine of pride.
Thy history was built on decency
but a child was born without a past.
There's no art in nudity, no pleasure
in airiness and no stories to discover
from child's play in immature coverings.


Why?
Why hast thou fostered that culture?


Jamaica
Jamaica
thy pristine nature
is fading like a cut plant
Years of creations and vegetations
are savagely decaying like bacteria on ice.
Thy tender grapes are drying.
Hast thou seen thy immaculate harbours of
yesterday: The ones that did heal sorrows
and trample adversities?

Jamaica
Jamaica
I caught your humble Nationalism
in days of the black empowerment themes
when our folklores were paramount and
pride spelt Nationhood. And before politics
robe itself in knighthood that today
stands betwixt the brethren.
I miss those days
when children were youth and adults were
parents: For they form a division for the culture.
Mine eyes bleed from the stench on our streets
for a people of greatness, regal men, are strapped
above their feet - struggling for laughter!


Jamaica
Jamaica
Today brotherhood, freedom of spirit, creativity,
pride and camaraderie
are folding into a past.
I dread thy new tomorrow
for the writings are in -
red, earthly dread
We say globalization and liberalization
have spoilt the dove's innocence
then, why not reclaim thy past?
God hath created thee in splendour:

The postcards speak of thee as the Garden!
Why?
Why have we washed the land of justice?


Jamaica
Jamaica
carnivals have failed to provide that avenue
for the cries have intensified
So let us wash our hands of individualism!