Dedicated to Paul Robeson, Sr.
Until they have stopped glutting me with slop from the kitchen’s garbage to make fat profit of me like a hog, Until they have stopped slitting my throat like a defenseless animal’s in the near-Christmas time killing for the Christmas feast, Until they stop the knife which in my tenderest years I had learned to anticipate, Until they stop the bloodletting, the blood purging and the joyful shouts over the slaughter for the feast— Exaultantly saying in many ways: She has borne enough pigs that will grow up to be hogs for the next year’s feast, Until they have stopped, my Mother of Christ, I will not desist from saying, “No!” Until they have stopped standard-branding me on the television and radio With the junk of how a real he-man is one who prefers the blondest, less-gray-hair type of woman, One who sails a speedboat going umpteen too-many fast miles an hour, While smoking a famous name brand cancer-producing cigarette; And a real she-woman is one who adores the sexual sell—loves nothing better than running a home with brainless effortlessness While indulging herself in a profusion of useless commodities And purring like a little tiger kitten Until they have stopped, my earth, my people, I will not desist from saying, “No!” Until they have stopped filling my lungs with tear gas in Alabama, U.S.A. And vomiting gas in Vietnam—knowing that to rob a person of will is to rob them of life Until they have stopped disgracing the languages of the peoples of this globe By calling these murderous attacks “humane”—and out-and-out war “deterrent activity,” Until they have stopped this assault to my natural intelligence, I will not desist from saying, “No!” “No!” To the would-be destroyers of my mother’s milk, Full of earth and determination and broken fingernails— Hurting to the quick from digging and groveling and Making this and that do when she knew by the standards of her Christ Nothing else would do except A more equitable distribution of the wealth of this earth. Until they stop the necessity of millions of mothers All over this earth from having to feed children on Fairy tales as a substitute for food, Until they stop! I will not desist from saying, “No!” For no fairy tale will do when the belly bleeds from the claws of hunger. No fancy hair sprays will do when the body is aging Or frightened from economic illnesses unattended. Nothing will do but another borning of humanity, A clean new day free of degrading wars, Against the working people of this earth— A tomorrow lit by the suns of peace And the stars of constructive human achievement. Nothing will do except the coming of a time for love For the spirit of Paul Robeson—for the hallowed spirit Of the great man Robeson—nothing but a time for love.
