Many of my friends are posting for International Women’s Day, so I thought I’d join the fray. What comes immediately to mind is something people used to say in Guinea-Bissau. In Crioulo they would say, “No Djunta Mon,” three simple words that translate “Let’s join hands.” Three simple words. Three powerful words. Men and women need to join hands. Men and men need to join hands. Women and women need to join hands. And, if we are going to get Whitmanian about it, let’s join hands across national boundaries, across nationalities, let’s join hands across space and time, let’s even join hands with folks we know are evil, folks we know are corrupt, folks who, we judge, lack morals or ethics or any trace of goodness, because, frankly, they need love too. Everybody needs a hand. “Everybody shake a hand, make a friend….on the friendship train…”
My second thought is this poem I posted to the Black Poetry Cafe this morning that perhaps deserves a wider distribution. It started on the subway as a sonnet, but became what it became.
“O woman of my people”
O woman of my people, smile that smile
of sadness, of toil, of oft betrayal,
that smile of joy, of gladness, of a kiss,
a gentle kiss that slowly dares to grace
my undeserving lips – a priceless thought
that sings and shouts inside my wounded soul
a song of sweet, forgotten, sacred love.
(c) 2014. RDMaxwell