Drought

In the unpromising unforgiving sky 
puffs of distant high vapours
at once native and alien like
inspectors of worth and value
that breeze out without remark

far below these hopeless shrouds
are human heads, covered and bare
but no gaze rises with expectation
seeking the dark laden armada 

the merciless sun shines, making it impossible to hide
heads bowed, held in hands plainly
gaze firmly fixed on the earth
blaming it for being so stupid
to need rain, to need clouds
those vagabonds of no fixed address
of no fidelity or virtue

the labours of the blamers
done in by truant beneficience
the canals that were dug
with hope aided by science 
now serve only to flood homes
with furrowed brows and plain despair

in this land hope lies fallow and like a signal of the end 
from the eye to the cheek
the only descent of moisture bends



First posted Jan 2011

My Monsoon

And the night begets more rain
rays of stark dark water
The shoots of life
Descending
With little gusto
To meet muddy ends
Sinking hope of life in earth again

Patter prevails
Ennui ensues
And obliterates
Something of the
Lighter notes
of my being
The fetid smell of me
tired beyond a freshing recourse

But shortly I am refreshed
Its the same patter that revives
And fills the heart with happiness
And now I think
You can take all the sunsets by the shore
Valleys like of Paradise itself
Rolling meadows and dales
Snowcapped mountains and all
That is deemed most beautiful

And yet cannot for me match
the sounds and smell of the monsoon
When it finally arrives
bearing down on my doors and windows
Forcing itself in every crevice it can find
To water my soul and nourish my mind

Quateel Ahmad

I Am Black

There is a leitmotif
Of arrogance and ignorance
In your honest friendly nature
You want to erase all sense
Of impropriety and savage conduct
by giving me new appellations

I used to be known as a negro
Or Black
or colored even
for those who wanted to
Capture the varying shades
Of my beautiful existence

But they made it hell
Picked on, slaved, beaten
Raped, murdered and sold
all because they could.
All this while they were saving my soul
With their own god and ways

I didn't mind
I came to this big country
Which I first landed on
with fettered feet
But when I sang
God listened
When I walked
Breeze was born
And when I ran
Deer looked at me with awe
I was a specimen like no other
In chains when no one else was
I was black and that was that

That was a long time ago
And today I am as much a part
Of this land as any other
The bones of my great ancestors
Is in this earth
Rivers here I have bathed in
Fields tilled and fish caught
animals reared and slaughtered
Married and children begot

Then some kind souls want to
Wash away old sins of others
Make me want to forget the torments
Linked with my black negro being
Decide to call me African American

I am at once proud of my proud lineage
My people, Africa and a smile
Till I think about it.

Is my being American
not halved by being called thus
Is this any way to address people
Most who have never been to Africa

Chinese Amercian, Asian American,
Japanese American, Indian, Pakistani,
What lies behind these names?
Are citizens of Indian, Pakistani and Latino
race not American?
Why is a person Chinese American yet another African American? Does it matter if Chinese are confused with Korean American, Hmong and Vietnamese or Filipino...

But more than anything else
Why don't we have Irish Americans,
Italian Americans, German Americans,
French Americans, Polish Americans
Czech Americans and of course English Americans

They are all simply described as white
Or even more simply as Americans.

So I would rather be called a black American.
Or just an American
I am from here and nowhere else
I am not going to be caught up in platitudes
created by weak or evil minds

So I have decided that I will write my name
And my colour is for all to see
Don't nigger me for I am Black
And the world is happily black brown yellow red and white
And all shades in between.