“Where I’m From” Rohan Alfred-Barthelmy ’18 Shares an Original Poem

New student Rohan Alfred-Barthelmy of Saint Lucia wowed students and faculty alike with his spoken word performance of an original poem, at Morning Meeting on Monday. Read on for Rohan’s poem, “Where I’m From.”
9/14/15
Where I’m From.

 

Home for me is more,
than glossy paged brochures,
It’s Hungry. tired. equally glossy smiles of men.
Dreadlocked hair to back, sitting on hand whittled stool,
the same hands that touch you. They are rough, black.
Hoping that you will spare the almighty, spare salvation
 the Dollar.
Home for me is more than the white powder sand
on perfect beach. You captured, safe behind your nikon.
Home for me is rough,
like the hands of women tired of their burden.
It’s bananas carried like salvation,
carried like the poor carry hope.
bundled close to their breast.
Hope that some day that chariot will swing lo.
Hope that your children won’t pick
Green gold
from trees
 bent like your back,
bent with the burden of their own fruit.
Hope that one day he’s comin’ for to carry me home.
I come from a place
where sometimes all you have is
grandmothers prayers and mothers tears.
bondye ban mweh kouraj
God give me strength.
sometimes that’s all you have
 Hope.
Home for me is men
who rose from sugar cane to lead a country out of oppression with nothing but hope.
Home for me is proud.
Home for me 100 proof
that burns all the way down.
I come from a place where men drink their paychecks
and themselves into ruin.
where our tongues roll like our
 hips to the rhythm
of drums in our chests.
I come from a place of unapologetic enjoyment
where you learn to dance before you walk.
where your waist move independent.
I come from soca calypso and country 
 It’s hot and sweet and thick and tastes like home.
Home for me is heads never bowed, mouths always smiling and words that curl and twist.
Home for me is white powder sand on perfect beach, you captured, safe, behind your Nikon.
Home for me is  hungry. tired. equally glossy smiles of men.
Dreadlocked hair to back, sitting on hand whittled stool,
the same hands that touch you. They are rough, black.
Hoping that you will spare the almighty, spare salvation
 the Dollar.
Home for me may not always be pretty
but it’s always beautiful.
It’s Hope
By: Rohan Alfred-Barthelmy

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