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Kemet

Kemet of Ancient Egypt by Greg Powell

clouds float in flames
as sun drops. rays beam
through west window holding
my face. caress skin blackened
by healing Ra heat of home. i have
made pilgrimage to holy lands, where
spirits whispered and whispers in sun
rays and smooth breeze slipping in open
space. goddess speaks wisdom of earth
and sky. commandments sung in tongues
of communal drums. spirits guided
common hands to raise pyramids from
dust oceans, monuments to love of high one,
and holy family, gods and goddesses, mother’s
and fathers of pharaohs who enter me now
to let my people go. ancient saints weaving
and carving celestial tapestries in papyrus
and tomb stone frescos of the never dead.
i stand at center of great earth mother, under
shadow and ancient mirrored gleam
of symmetric mountain temple/3 million
stones carved by genius hands of the faithful
unknown unremembered multitude whose reach
extend to heaven until babble distracts. raised
still rising into sky glowing orange from Aton,
as the desert and the Nile say, amen. Aton Ra
descends into goddess womb, sacred womb of stars,
suns birthing son of suns and suns dying in flaming decay.
i stand there and shout and pray and shout Jah Glory
at dusky mountain abode of empty pharaoh casket.
ancestors answer my call. my soul shouts
and pray in secluded corners, dwarfed and humbled
in colossal temples lifted and slowly descending
to ancient dust of Sahara ocean drowning us all
in time. stone columns bloom lotus flowers. warrior
kings raise swords and scepters and severed heads.
priests raise ankhs to Nile bringing life in floods.
sand dusted stones preach parables and holy propaganda
stone temples now desecrated by hustlers who know not
what they sell. i lift ancient incantations to Most High
Mother and Father whom colossal constructs can never
contain, for truth and guidance like feather on scale to weigh
my soul. for spirit hands to lay on soul scarred folk balm
for nightmare whip scars on beating hearts. to give me Ghost
hedge of protection to serve Jah in slaver sewer where I and I
survive and thrash and thrive in spite the bite of hooded vipers
in courtrooms and conference rooms and secret white people’s
halls of parasitic reign. the Ghost speaks to me here.
embraces my weeping heaving flesh. surges power in veins.
calms mind in ancient Nile rhythms of life and death, floods
and desert clouds of flies. i return to blue moon glowing
through window. candle on altar flickers in soothing breeze.
somewhere automatic pistol pops. metallic racket engines
horns and rubber screeching under tyranny of traffic lights.
flashing lights and sirens race down Broadway. on the walkway
homeless woman on crutches leans and pleads. billboard markets
beer with giant pale woman’s breasts. stench of American hell
poisons air. eyes praying to stay sane open/ goddess spreads arms
across black sky, pregnant body adorned with stars. pyramid
towers over street. stiff winged hawk soars circles high in night.

i wonder is this open sky or ceiling of future tomb caked with dust.
i wonder is this open sky or ceiling of future tomb caked with dust.
i wonder is this open sky or ceiling of future tomb caked with dust.