In the mists of the morn when still Aurora was sleeping,
And the frogs were still croaking their own destiny,
I awoke today before the sun had shown his face on a Caribbean sky,
And I became fifty one.Fifty one years is a long time
For a man and especially a woman but not for a fledgling nation.
El Tucuche and Cerro del Aripo clap their hands in salutation,and
The brackish waters of a muddy Caroni continue its journey,
Turning and turning before it empties its silt and grief ,
Into the Gulf of Paria where years before the ashes of ''the Doc''had been thrown.
But then,what do we celebrate?Our philosophy,tarnished by corruption,
And nepotism is a crop grown to replace the Chaconia.I have not fully shed
The chains of colonialism that bound me for centuries,
Since Colon,and his trinity of ships came to my shores.Hollywood
Films scenes from ''The Wild West'' everyday in the hills of Laventille.
If Descartes gave the world Je pense donc je suis ,
Or ,if you prefer cogito ergo sum ,but here not much thinking goes on,
For the state coffers have swayed many a griot who now sing
The praises of bacchanal whose sweet rhythms seduce the masses.
At fifty one,I groan in despair but then, perhaps better days are ahead.
Causes enoch john Supports
freedom of thought and expression