THE WRITERS by Mari Evans.

Where did they go the writers?
chest pulsing under kente clothThe
Word clenched in sweaty fist
Strength so awesome none approached
without a questioning, a quickering
“Am I incorrect?” “Oh tell me, brother!
Am I incorrect?”
Where did they go the Writers?
With the wisdoms learned from bluesteel
butts from cement crypts and
With their ancient sealed potential

They have gone to whiteland, sister
There they lie
healed by white lips
soothed by white hands
toned in white beds
bound again in silken chains
whispering in an alien tongue litanies
None but me/Miss Annie
None but me/pale comrade
with the quick tongue
with the rockblue eyes

Where die they go the writers?
Beautiful
Black
chest pulsing under cloth The
Word clenched in sweaty fist.
They have gone to whiteland, sister
Am I incorrect?
O tell me, brother
Am I incorrect?????

Reference:
Mari Evans