Rastafari Poem

Called Revolution
Poem about himself Haile Selassie I


Revolution
That beautiful name

Sons of Noah
Daughters of the Promised Land
Beaten down for centuries
Donkeys for the stone
Whip cracks
Whipped backs
Broken skin bruised
And moisture nought but tears
A legacy of glorious pyramids
Built on their backs

A boy born of slave blood
Death nor Egypt could catch him
Living royal life
Feasting on his brothers and sisters
Near drowned
Now crowned
But the seeds of revolution
Flowering inside his mind
As he began to realise that he was someone
He was not

All at once, a beautiful word is whispered
It hangs in the air, consuming the beasts
Polluting the water
And now the people drink of revolution
Blood paint
Marks Saint
Death strolls between the houses
Choosing who to take with him
The sunrise of freedom is on the horizon
And its light has burned up the enemy

Revolution
That beautiful name
Now the desert Sun
All that beats on their backs
The struggle is far from over
But revolution has been breathed into the people
And freedom is today exhaled