Saturday, October 11, 2008

POEM:Haiti In My Heart

By Cryssa C

Haiti in my Heart

I call myself a diaspora.

for Haiti is in my heart.

I think my heart is half-Haitian

because Haiti’s my heart’s second home.


My eyes take in the view:

Poverty in all her glory…

Burning tires and refuse,

Piled trash along the roads,

Garbage rivers running

through the sewage bordered streets…

But it’s not these sights that register;

my heart is blind to this…

My ears hear…


Stories of violent clashes

and governmental coups,

The cries of needy children,

rah-rahs & voodoo

But these sounds don’t penetrate;

my heart is deaf to this…

I breathe in…

Acrid odors assault my nose--

The stench of putrid sewage

Fetid fish

and car exhaust

But these scents don’t permeate;

my heart can’t smell these things…

There are tastes my tongue won’t savor--

Rancid Meat,

Diesel fumes,

The bitter taste of Bile

But I don’t discern these flavors;

my heart can’t taste these things…

My hand reaches out

and I touch…

Dirt, Grit, and Grime

As I feel palpable humidity

and sweat--

Trickling d




Creating muddy tracks

that end in sticky pools on my skin.

But these textures make no impression;

my heart can’t feel these things…

These things can’t touch and grasp

the Haiti in my heart!


My heart sees… Beauty…

Lush Vegetation and trees,

on Mountains

with Flowers

by the Sea

The sun’s blazing orb

casting light upon a darkened world.

reflecting the vivid colors of Haiti—

intense yellows, orange, blues, red, pink…

Streets dotted with the bright and shimmering colors

of women wearing taffetas, silks and satins—

And craftsmen creating works of art-

Of paintings, and sculptures, and wood carvings

-all reflecting the colors of Haiti

And… Children...

Being loved by their mothers

or playing near streets

Children … in starched uniforms

(the colors of Haiti)

Walking to and from school...



Stately heads


buckets and bowls…

filled with water,

lined with wares—

Bananas, candy,

stacks of cloth ...

precariously perched

on proudly tilted heads

And the tap-taps

-Haiti’s lively, decorated buses

that fill the streets

with their presence…

and with sounds...

of honking.

Horns tooting




My heart also hears… Music…

The music of street merchants

selling their wares



and bartering

in rapid fire Creole--

Snorts, Laughs, Loud Guffaws….

And Children


My heart hears happiness…

I smell… Industry

-diesel fumes

-welding vapors

-a country trying to change

and wafting through the air

I catch the scent of cooking…

-road side stands of chicken,

rice and beans,


I salivate and my mouth waters

-for onions




-and lemonade to die for…

Flavors all rolled together

creating in me

a tantalizing mélange of harmony…


I’ve tasted heaven!

When my veritable feast is done,

I sit back, relax,

and feel…

-a cool ocean breeze


Pouring rain--

dumping as if from a 10,000 gallon tank-

Washing away…everything…


I sense an indomitable spirit

-Their pride

-Their joy

I reach out

and touch…

A hand

A child

A friend

I reach out and feel… Loved


My heart drinks in the sights and sounds.

I breathe deeply--

close my eyes,

and smile….

This diaspora’s home!

for Haiti’s in my heart…

Source: AuthorsDen

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