It was in 2004 that I was invited to participate in the Shrinking Cities project by local poet/academic/curator Aurora Harris. I read and was filmed along with several other poets. The piece I chose for the film is entitled: "Daughters of the Dust" which talks about the relationship of African American males to urban areas and its impact on their families and communities. It was 3 years before I finally heard anything else about this project until to my surprise I received a phone call saying the project was on exhibit here in the States. Writers from all over the Metro Detroit area had been invited to discuss and share work regarding this project but I was one of the last to know, and had been featured in the film!
Needless to say I was not happy about this and sent someone in search of answers---but those details are too mundane to blog. I will be going this Saturday to check out the exhibit and finally see the finished product and get a copy of the film so I can finally have my long awaited footage!
Let me share the piece I read for the film with you:
Daughters of the Dust
By Chantay “Legacy” Leonard
I
I know the cries of
They cast down their crowns at the feet of their Creator
Rent their royal robes and cover their beauty with ashes
Weeping for their lost sons, brothers, and husbands
Queens wail and turn their faces to the wall
Dying of their grief and heartbreak
They can no longer conceive the seeds of warriors
Aborted destinies
They give birth to multiplied sorrows
Their hope has gone with the spirit of their lost warriors
Wombs weeping for the lost legacies of great nations
Don’t want to birth no more sons without their kings
Don’t want to hear the cries of a newborn asking, “Why?”
She bows her head and cries
She cannot remember the face of her king
To tell her sons and daughters of a Black father
Who stood tall in battles
A warrior of God who loved his land and people
The blessed love of her life that cherished her
She birthed his tribes
He was her strength
She was his glory
She now no longer remembers the stories of great men
Cause she has no King
She has watched her princes raised from the cradle of her arms
To the awaiting limbs of weeping willows
Floating in the wind
Her heart stopped with their last breathe
She falls to her knees
Driving a dagger through her own breast
But God won’t let her die
She dries the tears from her eyes and accepts the burden of living without love
She bleeds rivers of sorrow inside
Even as she stands tall
Her pride is her shield
Against the world that has stolen her joy
She renounces the title of queen
Transforming into a daughter of the dust
Cause she only lives for that one day
When she returns to the Earth from which she came
To join the lost warriors of her womb
II
Dust to dust
Ashes to ashes
In 2001 I watch the lost sons of
Dash her dreams against street curbs
How does the son of Kings and
Reduce himself to a Super Nigga?
Swinging through the concrete jungle
Creating a breed of royal bastards
By every Jane hanging out on the corner
Project
With overseers on 24 hour patrol
Daughters of the Dust watching as pales demons beat the brains out their firstborn
Redrum soaking the glass encrusted concrete
Even as the sirens wail ominously in the wind
Daughter watching lost seeds marching to the beat of Hip hop-pocracy
Spouting derisive philosophies on open mics
Sending their souls straight to an open grave
Cause the ancestors hear
The lost children cursing their own mothers and sisters
Steady swinging from a platinum noose
Shining deceptively in the lights of a stage
The Afro-Nigga AmeriKKKan Minstrel show
Men reduced to dogs
Who lick up their own vomit
Now justice has become just ice
These lost sons have deceived themselves into believing
That being a man
Is measured by the shine, karats, or grams
Stuck in the rut of STATUS
Still To Arrogant To Understand Success
That why they ain’t truly blessed
And find no rest
Always under the strain
To retain earthly riches
Gaining nothing but a flock of fake bitches and computer glitches
That in one moment could cause you to lose all wealth
Including your mental health
But how can you survive a bankrupt spirit?
Oh my lost sons of the Daughters of the Dust
I know you are not trying to hear it
But the Earth cries for the return of your kingly spirit
See I cannot arise from these ashes without you
Push back the clinch
That Willie Lynch’s your psyche
And remember who you are!
I know your scars run deep
Cause only God hears your weeping in the darkness
Only He has a rag big enough to wipe the tears of a Black man
I will help you stand
When you hurt I cry
I will give you my strength to restore your pride
The world is not right
When you and I are divided
So let us join together and fight!
Because you are my love, my warrior, my lord, my hero
My love, my warrior, my lord, my hero
My love, my warrior, my lord, my hero
Let me be the curve in your smile
The sparkle in your eyes
The warmth in your heart
Return to me my King
So that we may once again exist as one
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