Dear Coast Landerz ah Guyana

Dear Coast Landerz ah Guyana

By Gabrielle E. Mohamed

Do, prey tell,

Why ayo tink

Ya own meh lan?

 

No,

Seriously man,

Why yah tink dat yah invasion

Inta de art ah meh tribe

Waz accordin ta dah divine mystery?

 

An no, Boss,

Dis lan iz nah no

Art Ah De Darkness either.

Sheh de run red wid de blood

Ah we Red Muddah,

Protectah an Nurtrahah.

 

Buh like yah fahget

Iz sheh who de embrace yah

Afata enduring de wileness

Ah de ah-riginal massas.

Iz sheh who de unmould de colonial-ness

From yah bruk-up back.

Sheh de give yah back

De tounge dah massa cut aff.

 

Buh iz like

De savgaveness ah yah laws

Consume ya mind,

An undah de face a de full moon

Ee korup de psyche

Ta be less like de self,

An mo like dem,

De puppeteer, contortin

Yah movemenz ta ee will.

 

Well,

Leh meh tell yah sometin

Tah-day Tah-day.

Before de growth ah casos

An de birth ah sin,

Iz me an meh own own people

Oo roam dis lan eay.

De lan ah we Red Muddah.

We doz break bread

Wid de universe,

An see de fusha ah man in de starz.

We doz fee de energy ah

De Red Muddah in sheh treez,

An name de leavez ah all dem tree.

 

Buh iz oo you tink ya iz, ehh?

You, wit yah white laws,

Clothin yah self wid de Gladstone attidude

An de-siah fah ee luxury.

 

Lisen tah meh gud gud

Ayo,

Nah control me or meh tribe.

You dey in me lan,

Enjayn sheh pleasures

Fah too lang,

You dos abiuse de salivah ah

De red muddah an still wan mo.

 

Stap it, Invader,

Ee gat ta stap.

 

Budday, you come from

De seed a casos,

In de colonial misery,

An yah picknee iz de heir

A casos.

 

Productz ah sin

Dah sail in de waves ah de Kali Pani.

Check

Ya-self, Guyana.

 

Yah movin like dem ol massas, bai.

            Yah eatin we soul like dem,

Yah tryin fah dominate like dem.

 

An for what?

All ah dis murder an destruction

Iz fah wah?

            Fah prah-gress?

Prah-gress, ee cruel.

An iz de dutty joke ah Iz-tory.

Nah believe meh?

Ask de ruptured

            Lungz ah de lan,

Like flesh,

Expose ta de touch ah sin,

Scorch undah ya touch

Coast Lander.

 

Dear Coast Landers of Guyana

Do, pray tell,

Why do you think

That you own my land?

 

No,

Seriously man,

Why do you think that your invasion

Into the heart of my tribe

Was according to the divine mystery?

 

And no, Boss,

This land is no

Heart of the Darkness either.

She ran red with the blood

Of our Red Mother,

Protector and Nurturer.

 

But like you forgot

It’s she who embraced you

After enduring the wildness

Of the original masters.

It’s she who de unmolded the colonial-ness

From your broken back.

She gave you back

The tongue that the master cut off.

 

But it’s like

The savageness of your laws

Consumes your mind,

And under the face of the full moon

He corrupt the psyche

To be less like the self,

And more like them,

The  puppeteer, contorting

Your movements to his will.

 

Well,

Let me tell you something

Today today.

Before the growth of chaos

And the birth of sin,

It’s me and my own-own people

Who roamed this land here,

The land of Our Red Mother.

We break bread

With the universe,

And see the future of man in the stars.

We feel the energy of

The Red Mother in her trees,

And name the leaves on all the trees.

 

But is who do you think you are, ehh?

You, with your white laws,

Clothing yourself with the Gladstone attitude

And the desire for his luxury.

 

Listen to me good good

You,

Don’t control me or my tribe.

You’re in my land,

Enjoying her pleasures

For far too long,

You abuse the saliva of

The Red Mother and still want more.

 

Stop it, Invader,

It has to stop.

 

Budday, you come from

The seed of chaos,

In the colonial misery,

And your child is the heir

Of chaos.

 

Products of sin

That sail in the waves of the Kali Pani.

Check

Yourself, Guyana.

 

You’re moving like them old masters, boy.

            You’re eating our soul like them,

You’re trying to dominate like them.

 

And for what?

All of this murder and destruction

Is for what?

            For progress?

Progress, it’s cruel.

And it’s the dirty joke of History.

Don’t believe me?

Ask the ruptured

            Lungs of the land,

Like flesh,

Exposed to the touch of sin,

Scorched under your touch

Coast Lander.