How we survive

I am not a colony I am not some sub identity I am all of me I am none of you and not for you I am all for who I am becoming I am Bahamian I am the son of those who Escaped when running From the master’s gun and My ancestors died but they are Survived by humming Survived by drumming Survived by me and all of mine Remembering for all of time Their heavy sacrifice so that The culture may never die And that’s why I’m always singing, I always where a smile When I hear the cowbells ringing The thought of home lingers for a while Take me back to the sunny isle Lemme ebb and flow with the tide Lemme take the boat for a ride Lemme roam the beaches Skipping rocks across the wave tops And sorting seashells Diving headfirst off the old dock Looking for crab or cray to de-shell After a long day of soaking up sun rays After I empty my plate I know imma sleep well.

*Editor’s Note: This is a poem submitted by SJU senior Jervon Sands. Sands read the poem at the “It’s a Bahamian Thing” panel hosted as a part of the Festival of Cultures on Monday, Nov. 7.*