The Night the Drums Spoke to Shango- Chris Gray

( for Olakela Massetungi and in response to Vachel Lindsay-" The Congo" )

Boon-doo- boolay 
Boon- doo-boolay
Boon- doo-boolay 
Its late. It's midnight.
The drums awake me.
I feel my heart. I hear the drum beats.
Boon- doo, boon- doo.
There is a gathering in the misty distance.
The bush echoes voices.
The moon sees it all.
I hear the boon- doo- boom of drums.
The boon of songs long passed down.

Boon- doo- boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
The drums call. The drums call.
It is nightfall.
Tonight the owls will not be messengers of death.
The snakes will sleep on mango leaves.
The African diaspora speaks.
They are drumming, drumming, drumming for shango.

Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
There is dancing in the yard.
Some dance without shoes.
Some here. Some nowhere in the trance.
They are dancing with the gods.
They are dancing with the gods who were not captured by slavers.
Dancing with the gods that refused to be chained.
Boon-boo-boolay
Boon-boo-boolay
The Orishas have crossed the middle passage.
They are dancing with the men.
They are dancing with the women.
This is not voodoo. This is not voodoo.
This is what we do. This is what we do.

Boon-boo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
The drums are talking: tac-tac-tac-tac.
They are talking about shango.
Shango is running through the hill,
Running through the rivers,
Running through the decades for the fest.
He is in the trees. 
He is in the skies.
The moon is the eye.
The witness to the night.

Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
There are no guitars. No tambourines.
No steel pans singing: tock-tock-tock.
No tamboo-bamboo serenading: rati-tati-tali-toolay.
Tonight the drums are talking to the gods.
Maracas humbly whisper: chac-chac-chac.
The elders demand the sacrifice.
No fowl, goats or sheep will be sacrificed.
Shango will only be appeased by fruit.
Wooo-Wooo-woo:conch she'll speaks the truth.
This is not voodoo. This is not voodoo.
This is what we do. This is what we do.

Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-boo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
The boulders in the rivers speak.
The rivers talk about immortelle trees.
This is the language of the earth.
Tonight the axe is protector of the trees.
The drums speak for the silent.
Shango don't kill for shoe.
Shango don't kill for gold chain.
Shango don't kill for oil.
Shango don't kill for diamonds.
Shango has no blood on his hands.
Shango don't kill says the drums.

Boon- doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
Shango is in the yard.
The mighty god is pleased.
The elder drink from their calabash cups.
The thunder stones are laid. Side by side.
Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
Moco jumbie ain't coming for anybody.
Moco jumbie ain't taking a soul.
The drums roll. Shango here.

Boon-boo-boolay
Boon-boo-boolay
Boon-boo-boolay
There are no witch doctors with boiling pots.
No obeah men with pin struck dolls.
No head-hunters here seeking a human sacrifice.
No zombies seeking the cemetery to sleep.
This is a homage to the sacred.
This is an honor to the clouds.
A praise to the thunder, lightning and the floods.
This is not voodoo. This is not voodoo.
This is what we do. This is what we do.

Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
Boon-doo-boolay
Shango is love. Shango is peace.
Shango is the hurricane.
Shango wakes up the trees.
Shango dances with the seas.
Shango is love. Shango is peace.
Shango writes poetry. Lightning is his pen.
Shango recites poetry. Thunder is his voice.
Shango is love. Shango is peace.






Copyright Chris Gray