Scandal in the woods

As the day breaks in the east there is a wail, horrendous screeches, whistling reprisals followed by conciliatory gurgles. The congregation of insinuative loud shrill is now back on the canopy of the tallest tree.  There is a scandal in the hills. As proletarian they get any Hill Mynas worth its salt will use its oral felicity to thrash out the issue. Their egalitarian worldview extends to include miming a hapless human going about his or her daily chore. The repertoire is impressive by any bird standard. I can believe anything provided it is incredible, said Oscar Wilde. So we believe !!

Overall green-glossed black plumage, white wing patches, obvious in flight but mostly covered when the bird is sitting. The bill and legs are bright yellow; there are prominent yellow wattles on the nape and under the eye. Hill Mynas aka Gracula religiosa is a member of the starling family. The one above is Southern Hill Myna (Gracula indica) that is found only in Western Ghats and southern Sri Lanka.

Gladys May Casely Hayford: poet of Harlem Renaissance movement

Gladys May Casely Hayford (1904-1950) alias Aquah LaLuah, her African name, was born in Ghana (previously Gold Coast), she was a writer, poet, musician, dramatist, painter and story-teller. Gladys was an influential poet during the Harlem Renaissance. She died of blackwater fever. 

My Africa 

Oh land of tropic splendour, engirded by
    the seas,
Whose forest-crested mountains lift heads
    unto the breeze;
May patriotism render its praise on sea
    and shore,
Till Africa, great Africa becomes renowned
    once more,

May God walk on her mountains and in her
    plains be peace,
May laughter fill her valleys and may her
    sons increase:
Restored be strength and beauty and visions
    of the past;
Till Africa comes once again into her own
    at last.

Destroy race prejudices, break down the
    bars of old.
Let each man deem his brother of far more

    wealth than gold,
Till tribes be merged together to form one
    perfect whole,
With Africa its beating pulse and Africa
    its soul.

O Lord as we pass onward, through evolution
    rise,
May we retain clear vision, that truth may
    light our eyes,
That joy and peace and laughter be ours
    instead of tears,
Till Africa gains strength and calm,
    progressing through the years.

The Serving Girl

The calabash wherein she served my food
was polished and smooth as sandalwood.
Fish, white as the foam of the sea,
Peppered and golden-fried for me.
She brought me palm wine that carelessly slips
from the sleeping palm tree’s honeyed lips.
But who can guess, or even surmise
the countless things she served with her eyes?

The Cart-Horse

When blue becomes intense and dusks to grey,
Grey unto darkness shrouding the worn day,
I like to lie awake and gaze upon the
    cloudless sky
And hear the song of the cart-wheels as the
old cart-horse goes by.
The squeaking boards,
The rusty chains,
The clank of steel and brass,
The intermittent hoof-beats as the old
    cart-horse goes past.

When darkness turns to grey again and grey
    to light,

When little wrens awake prepared for flight,
I like to lie awake with the warm sun
    streaming in,
And try to understand the tune the good old
    cart-wheels sing.
The squeaking boards,
The rusty chains,
The clank of steel and brass;
Oh, I love to hear the music of the cart-
    horse going past!

Dawn

Dawn for the rich, the artistic and the
    wise,
Is beauty splashed on canvas of the skies,
The brushes being the clouds that float
    the blue,
Dipped in the breeze for paint, and washed
    by dew.

But dawn to those who bathe the night in
    tears,
Squeeze sustenance from hard unyielding
    years,
Is full of strange imaginings and fears.
The dawn renews the terror of the day
Where harassing uncertainties hold sway;
And pain held in surcease through brief
    hours of rest
Roars up its head in its unceasing quest
To wear out body, brain and mind and soul
Till death is a resolve, and death a goal.
For those life holds no beauty, dawn no
    light,
For day is hopeless, dawn is struck with
    blight.

The Ant 
 I met the daintiest little ant,
Her waist was slim and narrow --
    "I wonder if you've bones?" I asked,
    "And are they filled with marrow?
    Where are they situated,
    Is what I'd like to know?
    And are they lubricated
    Like people's bones or no?
    Surely you must have a skull,
    Protection for your brains,
    To know the rate and the exchange
    Of market goods and gains?"
But by the time I'd finished

My wonderful oration,
My dainty ant, distinctly bored,
Had changed her situation.

The Lizard

I met a handsome lizard upon the gravel walk,
And so I stopped politely and asked him for
    a talk;
He nodded once, he nodded twice to make his
    meaning plain,
Glanced up at me with wee bright eyes and
    nodded once again.

I said, "You live on flies. Do you eat them
    alive or dead?
And when you eat them, do they still keep
    buzzing in your head?"
He shrugged, then very haughtily inclined to
    me his ear
Insinuating it was time I made my meaning
    clear.

"I'm sorry," I began, "but please, this
    question if I may;
Do you, Sir, shake your head for no and nod
    your head for aye?"
He glanced at me with cold disdain, ignoring
    me, until
He slowly and deliberately climbed on the
    windowsill
He turned, he nodded once, twice, thrice to
    make his meaning plain,
Glanced up at me, with wee bright eyes and
    nodded once again.

The Leaf

"I am still alive, I cling to my parent
    branch,"
A young leaf was crying.

    "I am still
                Flying,
                        Flying,
                                FLYING."

But the night wind caught her and held her
    soft sighing;
He had chilled her heart.
She was
                Dying,
                            Dying,
                                        Dying.

Harlem Renaissance was a cultural movement that spanned the 1920s and 1930s. It was also known as the "New Negro Movement” and though it was centered in the Harlem neighborhood of New York City, many black writers from African and Caribbean colonies were also influenced by the Harlem Renaissance. 

The Renaissance was more than a literary or artistic movement; it possessed a certain sociological development -particularly a new racial consciousness- through racial integration. The Harlem Renaissance helped lay the foundation for the post-World War II phase of the Black Civil Rights Movement. 

From my scribble pad…

Dear butterfly that flits on my lap

The brazen butterfly beautiful

carries all the burden in its light colours

to attract, evade, dalliance with

and caress fickle life

in all its nuanced fullness.

Still to remain the same

in the face of everyday gnawing death