I hear astaccato beat,
as the pavement hits my feet.
And as I walk downthe street,
I peek - peek to see if others can feel thisbeat.
Like blood running through my veins,
sweeter than redmints and Christmas candy canes,
makes me wonder if I'm sane,
thispain - pain of drums thumping through my veins.
The drums of myancestors are beating in my face.
Can you affirm that this is thecase,
as you run and try to keep up with my pace?
Is it me or arethey really saying - "Girl, have you forgotten yourrace?"
Have you forgotten, young dear, those 200+ years
when the price of your carefree walk was paid in both blood and intears?
Are you aware of the burden your adolescent back must bear,
and that your time to speak out and represent is both present andclear?"
Now I hear tambourines shake and they rattle theplace.
It is the noise of the women and it seems that they too havea case.
I think to myself - how much more can I take -
of thesespeaking percussions deciding my fate?
The tambourines speak -"We too have a cause, how can you forget -
how we women mustfight - equality is not ubiquitous yet.
It is not our fault but itis deep-set,
we women must struggle because our genes areXX."
I answer the drums and the tambourines with this choice-
"I'll join in your music and I'll be the voice."
Forwithout me the world will just see your music as noise,
I see it'smy duty, I really have no choice.
Obviously, I was born for apurpose that's rather acoustic
it's very clear that I was meant toanswer the call of my walking music.
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