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.
Haiti…
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…
Gunshots,
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
o
w
n,
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!
Instead….
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...
Smiling....
Laughing....
Stately heads
balancing
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
-greetings
-warnings
-permission…
My heart also hears… Music…
The music of street merchants
selling their wares
-“Pee-stoch”
-“D’lo,”
and bartering
in rapid fire Creole--
Snorts, Laughs, Loud Guffaws….
And Children
-singing
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,
-cabri
I salivate and my mouth waters
-for onions
-spaghetti
-cabri
-Chadeque
-and lemonade to die for…
Flavors all rolled together
creating in me
a tantalizing mélange of harmony…
MMMMMM!
I’ve tasted heaven!
When my veritable feast is done,
I sit back, relax,
and feel…
-a cool ocean breeze
bringing
Pouring rain--
dumping as if from a 10,000 gallon tank-
Washing away…everything…
Cleansing…
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
Haiti…
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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