The Water Fountain

Old--ebony black, face lined with tracks of torment.
Her thin neck--bent frame, stumbling in walk.
Bones rusted through years of starvation and mistreatment.
Struggles and sobs for sustenance in her poverty
within their web of wrath in the wealth of the White Mississippi.

Sparkling water drips from stone fountain in that court,
reserved for the white folks in their wealthy fort.
Their domain, their right, theirs for being white
to enjoy as part of their power and birthright.
No drops from spout will moisten her lips this night.

Outrage-disgust that she'd dare taste their sacred water.
Cane carries her to fountain to quench her thirst.
While white kids taunt, mock and humiliate her in their banter,
safe in their cocoon of wealth in their cruel quest
to destroy that "old black devil bitch."

White mothers with thick red-painted lips,
washed in white dress utter false prayers to their white god,
while fathers storm out of their palace in white shirts, hands on hips.
Faces taut-wild, staring at black witch waiting to strike her with their sword,
a creature to be despised like a common worm, not like their pet poodle.

Her body stooped over, searching for the nectar of life.
Venom of hatred seethes in their viper's heart to kill this nigger.
Thunder, Lightning and Wind know of her purity and strife.
Wind lets out its fury, frothing with spit to shield the beggar.
Lightning sparks its fiery ember while white mob cower in fear.

God, Wind and Moon smile upon her
as she soars into skies wrapped warm in Wind's blanket of love.
Fire erupts, the palace is struck in a thunderous roar of flames.
Evil mob run like rats for cover diving into deep pit of dirt.
Will they remember their cruelty and this warning of God and nature?

Fountain won't sparkle--only poison in its veins.
The clear pure water of life won't flow from its spout.
In this night, the wind, stormy rain, moon and God will remember
that old black beggar woman.

A century passes--a black child runs to the fountain.
White and black folks dance merrily as one in yellow sun.
Fountain runs clear and pure in this new dawn.
Laughter resounds as child drinks in joyous fun.

They remembered the old black beggar woman!

Raj Napal

Raj Napal's picture

He was born in Port-Louis, Mauritius. His family emigrated to Britain in the late 60s. He practiced law in England for a number of years before moving to Ontario, Canada in the mid 90s. He loves writing poetry some of which he shares with his 2 teenage children and other people. He currently practices law in Ontario. He is really keen to use words in such a way in predominantly free verse form to create an emotional impact on his audience.

Last updated October 07, 2015