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“The Black Mother” by Marcus Garvey
Where can I find love that never changes
Smiles that are true and always just the same,
Caring not how the fierce tempest rages,
Willing ever to shield my honored name?
This I find at home, only with Mother,
Who cares for me with patient tenderness;
She from every human pain would rather
Save me, and drink the dregs of bitterness.
If on life’s way I happen to flounder,
My true thoughts should be of Mother dear,
She is the rock that ne’er rifts asunder,
The cry of her child, be it far or near.
This is love wonderful beyond compare;
It is God’s choicest gift to mortal man;
You, who know Mother, in this thought must share,
For, she, of all, is Angel of your Clan.
My Mother is Black, loveliest of all;
Yes, she is as pure as the new made morn;
Her song of glee is a clear rythmic call
To these arms of love to which I was born.
I shall never forget you, sweet Mother,
Where’er in life I may happen to roam;
Thou shalt always be the Fairy Charmer
To turn my dearest thoughts to things at home.
“Lineage” by Margaret Walker
My grandmothers were strong.
They followed plows and bent to toil.
They moved through fields sowing seed.
They touched earth and grain grew.
They were full of sturdiness and singing.
My grandmothers were strong.
My grandmothers are full of memories.
Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay.
With veins rolling roughly over quick hands.
They have many clean words to say.
My grandmothers were strong.
Why am I not as they?