CRAZY LOVE by Dr Lester Simon

CRAZY LOVE

1. Love can drive you crazy. It matters not the noun of your love; an animal, person, place, or thing. Love can mad you.

2. I was alone but not lonely. You said you discovered me. I made you cotton, cane and indigo. You devoured every inch of my body, exploring places I never knew anyone could go to seek and find rapacious, selfish pleasure. I bore your many children for the habits and cycles of your plantation. You made prosper, as the calypso says. I made nought.

3. As time went by so did you; going back to the crown of your empire and founding another across the Atlantic pond, using the same articles of plunder and massacre.

4. All your leaves are sparkling, spanking green, fertilized by the yellow sun in the blue sky and anchored in the rich soil fertilized with volumes of black blood.

5. I started over. Scars of hate haunted and occupied me, some yours, some mine, leaving me with just a slender thread of hope to not remove myself from this earth. My ancestors would not be pleased. They died this and that way so I might live.

6. In time I found a new lover. A love with difficulty, like yours, in some ways. All loves are difficult to me since you ransacked and virtually emptied my soul. Recycling my life, this new lover comes bearing gifts in fine chinaware; gifts I cannot afford and gifts I should refuse, knowing beforehand that my bed, bedding and belongings will be his one day. I should have planted myself firmly in the ground, taking my time to bear fruits and walk tall in slow motion. Greed can eat you out. Vultures know the smell.

7. Then one day, my Exodus came riding back. Not for me. At least not directly. It is the dance of the minds. Remember that one? That is the one where he stands just close enough to be legal and seemingly polite and warns all the suitors: she is not dancing. The lady is not for dancing.

8. Or it is the dance of body figure as he waltzes one invading step further and enters my space, again, claiming all of mine is his. None else shall enter and all else must leave.

9. How many times must I give my body to be burned. Every time I do, I do so anchored in the knowledge that the love of life is all I have, and all that I can pass on to others. The scientists claim that matter cannot be created or destroyed. I am but a link in this everlasting chain of life. Do not break it up, even though break is not a four-letter word.

10. When all seems lost, I must lift up my eyes far beyond the hills and see the constant expansion of the horizon. It is calling us to rediscover and remeasure the meaning of life and our tiny place on this small earth in this endless universe.

11. It is a call to arms. Neither arms of physical war nor arms of desparing hugs. It is a time to question and answer who we are. Caribbean. With a long and glorious history of struggle embedded and coded in our DNA and within our epigenetics. Reparations for the past and preparations for the future. Fighting front and back. Back to back. Belly to belly. We do give a damn. We not done dead already. Sing the chorus.

12. The adage was wrong. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can do me no harm. That cannot be true. Not for us. Words are all we have. It is the time for the words of poetry and the words of prose, and the sound of our music and all of the arts to rise up and give life, new life to the falling, failing fading spirit. Here we are, here we are. Where are you from? The Caribbean.

13. If the love of a person, place or thing and its denial to us can drive us crazy. Maybe, just maybe it is the journey through this maze of crazy love, this choking, hurricane world of craziness at this time that finally will set us free.

14. Vinceremos!

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