Kamalo Deen

Guaracara River Rhapsody

First published by Pempaleh Productions 2023

Copyright © 2023 by Kamalo Deen

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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Fondly dedicated to everyone who has ever felt the warmth of Waracka’s waters.

Contents

1. Foreword

2. Preface

3. Acknowledgement

4. I. BOOK ONE

5. 1. Waracka

6. 2. Ah Woo

7. 3. Clippity Clop

8. 4. The Gentle One

9. 5. Remember Still

10. 6. My Kisskedee

11. 7. Who Am I

12. 8. Flames

13. 9. Murder

14. 10. Have You Ever

15. 11. Chandralekha

16. II. BOOK TWO

17. 12. A Calamitous End

18. 13. Cobo

19. 14. Clear And Clean

20. 15. We Legacy

21. 16. Now

22. 17. Take Me Away

23. 18. A Long Time Ago

24. 19. The Rover

25. 20. My Footprints

26. About the Author

27. Also by Kamalo Deen

Foreword

A Pempaleh Productions Presentation

“GUARACARA RIVER RHAPSODY”

(Verses from an Earlier Time)

BY

KAMALO DEEN

ⓒ Copyright 2023…. Pempaleh Productions,

86 Robin Road, Staten Island, New York 10305

www.pempaleh.com

Preface

To the residents of the villages and communities along its banks, the GUARACARA RIVER is commonly referred to as “WARACKA”.

For me, my brothers and my boyhood friends the river was like a second home.

In our youthful days Waracka was our playground.

We’d swim and fish in the river during the dry season and swing on cobo-liane vines and glide fig-tree trunks and bamboo rafts in her rough rainy season floods.

Waracka flowed a short distance from my home. Many were my boyhood hours spent there with my friends, sometimes “breaking beesh” from classes at Gasparillo Government School. We’d go roaming through the many tracks, traces and trails along her banks.

During those days we used to roast wahbeens, mamataters and coscorubs on the river bank and sometimes even a ground dove whenever we were lucky enough to catch one.

I remember the times we raided green figs and yam and cassava from a neighbor’s garden to boil soup in a frico pan using water from the river. We used to add some ochro and bird peppers for taste and a few ookoo seeds to give it color.

Corns, shatine seeds and pitty tambos were also boiled treats for us whenever they were in season.

Waracka was our kingdom and we harvested and used its bounties freely.

Many people were attracted to the river. On weekend afternoons you would hear adults talking aloud and laughing as they cooked pelau or boiled ground-provisions on a makeshift stone fireplace and children singing and shouting as they played games on cleared areas along the river bank.

On Saturdays, Sundays and Public Holidays crowds would gather for cricket matches in the park during dry season. On rainy season days we’d play foolball, skating and sliding around in the mud and always ending up diving into the Waracka waters to scrub ourselves clean before going home.

We’d regularly walk the black pump-line one hundred feet above the water surface and create heaps of bagasse from the canes we’d sucked on the four silver pump-lines down by the park.

Occasionally we’d witness drowning victims pulled from her waters. A few were our school friends or village neighbors.

Different areas were given special names by the boys who regularly swam there…. Names like Pump House and Sandy Beach and Bahsay and Sahnee.

At times in these poems the river would be referred to by either name: Guaracara or Waracka.

By either name this river will always be…. my river.

Acknowledgement

Layout & Artwork by Ishmael Deen

Some pictures provided by: Joy Chan, Barry James & Acklima Dean-orie

I

Book One

Eleven poems written during the period before I migrated from my village.

“It was a time of innocence…. It was a time of longing.”

1

Waracka

Guaracara was my river….. Waracka was my playground.

“Waracka”

At dawn while my river

Eases down to the sea

Alligators lounging

Birds flying free

Neighborhood children

Fresh and gay

Chasing zings and squirrels

In their play

Lazy lizards basking

In the sun

Kiddy goats and puppy dogs

Hopping all around

Mothers and fathers

And babies too

Singing silly songs

On the grass wet with dew

The scene is aglow

With the sun’s golden ray

Everything is fresh

At the start of the day

The world is as happy

As can be

At dawn while my river

Eases down to the sea.

At noon while my river

Drifts down to the sea

Playing in the shade

Of our sapodilla tree

Mama on a blanket

Her head in a wrap

Reciting to me

From a book in her lap

Stories and songs

Of people and places

Painting pretty pictures

Of bright lovely faces

Waking my imagination

Then setting it free

Creating new worlds

To explore and to see

Lost in the rhythm

Of her voice soft and sweet

As wavelets trickle forward

To dance at my feet

My world is as happy

As can be

At noon while my river

Drifts down to the sea.

At night while my river

Creeps down to the sea

Flowing to the sound

Of a lone kisskedee

Old Taynee leading

His cattle to pen

The hurrying homeward

Of hard-working men

The village is retiring

Firesides are lit

Cocksets are glowing

The swish of the flit

Mama is calling

As dinner is laid

Papa is struggling

To insert the lamp shade

Sweethearts are whispering

In the gentle night air

To always be faithful

To love and to care

Our world is as happy

As can be

At night while my river

Creeps down to the sea.

2

Ah Woo

The Ah Woo was a long and lonely bamboo grove along the bank of the Guaracara River as it entered Pointe A Pierre on its way to the sea.

To get there we had to cross the estate security wires that separated our village from the private oilfield compounds.

It was a favorite area for stick-im-up games and a variety of other escapades with my brothers and friends.

Special among them were the frequent chases by the Oilfield horse-riding policemen who patrolled the tracks and traces that crisscrossed the vast bushy fields.

It was a lonely area with an air of mystery and adventure.

Sometimes we’d imagined hearing strange sounds and hurried rustlings among the tall grasses and bushes.

Some of our friends even claimed to have heard distant children’s laughter and singing as the towering bamboo stalks emitted high-pitched melodies as they squeezed against one another in the steady breeze.

When I was quite young, my aunt who used to visit from Usine liked to tell us jumbie stories about doens, children who had died young and whose spirits remained roaming and playing in the wild bushes around our village.

To caution us from wandering too far away and to prevent us from swimming alone in the river, Mama also used to warn us about doens, who she claimed could appear when we were alone to entice us away from our home into their unknown world…. never to return.

“Ah Woo”

Out through the groves

Of the bamboo patch dome

Ah woo, Ah woo

I once met the children

Who called it their home

Ah woo, Ah woo.

With rain-season floods

The river flowed free

Ah woo, Ah woo

I heard their sweet voices

Calling to me

Ah woo, Ah woo.

“You look like a friend

So tell us your name”

Ah woo, Ah woo

“Child of the Rillo

Come join in our game”

Ah woo, Ah woo.

“We play every day

Throughout the whole year”

Ah woo, Ah woo

“No schoolwork no homework

No worries no care”

Ah woo, Ah woo.

“We run through the fields

We skip and we prance”

Ah woo, Ah woo

“We swim in the river

We sing and we dance”

Ah woo, Ah woo.

“Our pockets are full

With all manner of treats”

Ah woo, Ah woo

“Whatever you wish for

To drink or to eat”

Ah woo, Ah woo.

“Fruits sweet like honey

And flowers perfume”

Ah woo, Ah woo

“Cherries and berries

For you to consume”

Ah woo, Ah woo.

They danced all around me

And sang a sweet song

Ah woo, Ah woo

“Come frolic with us now

With us you belong”

Ah woo, Ah woo.

I drank of their nectar

I tasted their fruit

Ah woo, Ah woo

I followed their revelry

I danced to their flute

Ah woo, Ah woo.

We rolled and we tumbled

They sang out my name

Ah woo, Ah woo

They hugged and they kissed me

I joined in their game

Ah woo, Ah woo

As I followed them blindly

Out into the wild

Ah woo, Ah woo

My mother called to me,

“Where are you, my child?!”

Ah woo, Ah woo.

They scampered away

At the sound of her call

Ah woo, Ah woo

Melting through the bamboo

Like behind a shawl

Ah woo, Ah woo.

I turned to the bushes

To follow them there

Ah woo, Ah woo

My mother embraced me

Her face filled with fear

Ah woo, Ah woo.

She hugged me and whispered,

“Stay with me my child”

Ah woo, Ah woo

“I’ll die if I lose you

To the life of the wild.”

Ah woo, Ah woo

From childhood to manhood

The bamboo I’ve roamed

Ah woo, Ah woo

Along Guaracara

In search of their home

Ah woo, Ah woo.

I’ve traversed the the wild grove

Year after year

Ah woo Ah woo

Hoping that one day

They will re-appear

Ah woo, Ah woo

Others were enchanted

Others had gone

Ah woo Ah woo

Captured by the children

To a life newly born

Ah woo Ah woo

And though they’ve never

Come to me again

Ah woo, Ah woo

I search for the children

Though I know it’s in vain

Ah woo, Ah woo.

3

Clippity Clop

Among my fondest memories during my early years as a student at Gasparillo Government School was the annual Christmas event sponsored by Trinidad Leaseholds Limited of Pointe a Pierre.

The highlight for us on those occasions was a brightly decorated company vehicle approaching the school with Santa Claus sitting on the hood ringing a bell, waving and shouting “Ho Ho Ho!! Merry Christmas”.

The school used to break out in pandemonium as the vehicle approached.

Besides the treat of cake and ice cream Santa Claus would bring a toy for every child.

I remember Mama used to tell us about a gentleman who was the owner of a sugarcane estate near Preysal, her childhood village.

His horse-cart visits to their village at Christmas-time when she was a child was a welcomed and highly anticipated ritual to them.

Even as a grown woman she spoke of that man and those occasions from her childhood with great reverence and nostalgia.

“Clippity Clop”

We line the streets expectantly

We stand in line and wait to see

We wait and wait, our faces set

We listen as we hold our breaths

And no one dares to say a word

Till around the bend, along the road

From where the morning sunbeams glowed

The clippity clop

Cloppity clip is heard

It’s Christmas time, it’s Christmas time

With happy hearts and lives sublime

When cakes are baked and feasts prepared

And songs are sung and love is shared

When we can lay aside our fears

And anxiously wait for one who cares

When around the bend, along the road

Near where the Waracka waters flowed

The clippity clop

Cloppity clip is heard

Children clinging to mothers’ skirts

Men dressed in their cleanest cotton shirts

Women on the brink of tears

The sound comes like music to our ears

Beyond the forest and fields of cane

And Waracka swollen from the rain

From up the road, around the bend

Where all the animals are penned

The clippity clop

Cloppity clip descends

And suddenly a stifled gasp

The air is shattered, hands are clasped

Children laugh and sing and dance

Women straining for a glance

The men explode in lusty cheers

Couples clinging now in pairs

The old folks can’t suppress their tears

For Clippity clop

Cloppity clip draws near

Our prayers are answered, our hopes fulfilled

Our cries of joy begin to build

Then grow into a mighty roar

Like rushing through an open door

We break out in a lively jig

As he guides along his horse and rig

The sweetest sound throughout the year

Approaching with a style and flair

That brings a thrill to every ear

For Clippity clop

Cloppity clip is here

He comes to us like the morning sun

He sings of Christmas joy and fun

His face is bright, as bright as ours

His horse is prancing on all fours

A splendid sight for all to see

He laughs aloud and waves with glee

And stops beneath the chennette tree

With Clippity Clop

Cloppity clip

He’s here, he’s here

His prancing, dancing horse is here

Carriage loaded to the ground

With gifts and toys for everyone

Colored scarves and siren domes

Playing cards and pocket combs,

Toy cap-guns and baby dolls

And spinning tops and rubber balls

Our homes are filled with gifts and toys

Season’s cheers for girls and boys

For everybody’s Christmas joys

The Clippity Clop

Cloppity Clip has brought

Thoughtful gifts of every sort

We laugh and shout and dance around

And sing aloud our Christmas songs

And thank the Lord - Oh thank you Lord

For all these things we can’t afford

A gift to us from one who can

One who adds us to his plan

One who toils throughout the year

But finds the time to bring us cheer

There’s none we know who can compare

With this noble man

This gentle man

This kind and caring man

When Christmas goes we lift our hands

And sing his praise throughout the land

For Christmas love that he had brought

The gift of sharing he had taught

Forever thankful for the joy

He’d brought to every girl and boy

We’ll go to school and pass our test

We’ll face our toil and do our best

And perform tasks without protest

In memory of our jolly friend

Whose clippity clop

Cloppity clip

Still lingers around the bend.

4

The Gentle One

There used to be a Chinese man who roamed the streets of Gasparillo for several years during my youth.

His clothes were tattered. His feet were bare. His hair was uncombed and unkempt.

He slept on the concrete pavement below the bridge.

This was very unusual to us because we had never before seen a Chinese person in this type of predicament. The few in our community were all successful in business.

I never heard him speak because he never spoke. On a few rare occasions his voice was heard mumbling a few incoherent grunts.

He seemed to be a gentle person who might have suffered a major tragedy in his life.

No one ever communicated with him.

His quiet disposition and his solitary wandering within the village made for much speculation among the local folks.

“The Gentle One”

I dreamed I saw the Gentle One

Walking along the street

With shaggy head and bearded face

And no shoes on his feet

His tattered rags hung to the ground

And flowers crowned his hair

The youth and children laughed and mocked

The grown folks frowned and stared

But he just walked along alone

His eyes with kindness shone

His gnarled hands swinging at his side

His skin tanned by the sun

He walked up to the House of Prayer

And entered through the door

The congregation turned and stared

At his bare feet on the floor

With stifled whispers from their lips

At the twinkle in his eyes

His grizzled beard and tattered clothes

His hair and wild disguise

An elder hurried up to him

And said, “Please will you go

For this sir is a house of God

And not a place of show.”

The Gentle One he bowed his head

A teardrop stained his cheek

He bit his sad and trembling lips

He tried but could not speak

He turned and slowly slinked away

His face was sad and glum

I heard him whisper as he passed

“Is this what they’ve become, my God?

Is this what they’ve become?”

5

Remember Still

When my eldest brother left home to study abroad in England, it created a deep hole in our family.

His absence brought a sharp loneliness to each of us.

As the eldest he was the guide and disciplinarian to my brothers and me.

In those days few people from our village migrated to far away countries.

Distance then was not just a matter of miles but also of communication.

Like everybody else in the village we had no telephones or computers with which to communicate.

Everything depended on the written word.

I missed him and my young mind sensed that he had gone away to build a new life elsewhere and would never again return to our home.

“Remember Still”

Remember still the home you’d fled

The home whose comforts you had shed

The home to which your heart is wed

Remember still.

Remember still your childhood days

When wandering through our wooded ways

You’d flung your voice in joy and praise

Remember still.

Remember still the voices fond

That called your name from all around

When like a prince you’d strolled the ground

Remember still.

Remember still the tropic heat

Of nature’s playground at your feet

The picoplat and parakeet

Remember still.

Remember still the valleys green

The dirt tracks and the hilly scene

The silent rivulets between

Remember still.

Remember still that happy time

When livened by its healthy clime

You’d sang with lust calypso rhyme

Remember still.

Remember still the rhythmic sound

Of steelband music all around

And limbo dancers touching ground

Remember still.

Remember still the music gay

Of Indian singers by the way

Their dancers dressed in bright array

Remember still.

Remember still the pitch and oil

The giant trees the fertile soil

The people happy in their toil

Remember still.

Remember still the music sweet

The revelers dancing in the street

The swaying hips the shuffling feet

Remember still.

Remember brother where you roam

From deep within the evening’s gloam

A voice cries out “Come home! Come home!”

Remember still.

6

My Kisskedee

Kisskedee….the most common bird of my youth.

His hearty cry woke me up from bed every morning.

“My Kisskedee”

Do you know

My kisskedee

Why you are you

And I am me

Do you know

The grief and pain

Of a heart

That is insane

With the burning

Fires of life

A heart that’s tortured

And in strife

A heart that wants

To feel the breeze

That blows above

The mahogany trees

A heart that yearns

To sing a song

About a world

That knows no wrong

A heart awakened

When night is gone

To the welcome of

Your voice at dawn

Dear kisskedee

Why can’t you give

Your blissful life

For me to live?

7

Who Am I

In my later teenage years I would often sit alone at night on the Guaracara River Bridge and think about things…..

Mostly I thought about the significance of life as I had understood it to be from the songs I had heard and the poems and novels I had read.

I wondered mostly about what the future might hold for me.

“Who Am I”

The changing winds the seasons all

The oceans wide the mountains tall

The lonely stars the sunbeams bright

The animals the birds in flight

I know them all their how and why

But still I question: Who am I?

Here on this cool dark April night

Here with cane fires burning bright

Here in the cat-cracker’s distant glow

Above Waracka’s quiet flow

I sit alone and close my eyes

And dream of worlds beyond the rise

I do not know what lies ahead

What are the paths that I must tread

The oceans deep the mountains tall

The world that lies behind the wall

My mind drifts off so I can see

A whole wide world in front of me.

I know that I must tread that road

I know that I must bear the load

Plunging through life that is unsure

Seeking to open every door

Hoping that one day I shall find

Those answers that will soothe my mind.

8

Flames

I witnessed two separate rumshop fires on the junction.

In both incidents the fierce intensity of the flames intrigued me.

“Flames”

The fire rages on and on

Its crackling flames

Leap lovingly into the sky

From deep within

Its seething waist

Slithering plumes rise high

The fire rages on and on

Its sizzling gray hot ashes

Keeping time

Leaping and dancing

Winding and grinding

As if in sync

To its own continuous rhyme

The fire rages on and on

What wild exuberant stupor

What dazzling ecstasy

Its brutal strength arising

From deep within

Its bulging turbulent belly

The fire rages on and on

Crackling, slithering, leaping

Forever sizzling forever dancing

Rising in a wild tumultuous tide

Onward upward

Thrusting forward

Staggering like the village drunkard

Fighting to maintain his stride

The fire rages on and on

Erupting and exploding to the sky

The fire rages on and on

But eventually this too will die.

9

Murder

I occasionally spent nights camping along the banks of the Waracka and its several tributaries.

Often I had to battle the troubling elements of the night.

“Murder”

She buzzed and buzzed

And played around

I clapped my hands

And missed

She buzzed again

As if in jest

And then before she flew away

She teasingly blew a kiss

I sat erect

My ears pricked up

My senses now alert

I looked around

And saw her there

With grinning face

And mocking stare

Preening in her mirth

I stared at her

With focused eyes

Angered by her taunt

I quickly rose

And spread my hands

She took a stand

Her wings like wands

An open outright flaunt

She laughed

And singing in my ear

She jokingly flipped and flopped

I shouted “Damn!!

I’ll spoil your plan”

I clapped my hands

Finally the buzzing stopped.

10

Have You Ever

Sitting on the bridge overlooking the river

Listening to its waters flowing softly across the concrete wall of the oil company’s pump house a short distance away

My young mind is troubled……

“Have You Ever”

Have you ever gazed on high

And seen an angel in the sky

Have you ever in the night

Set your lonely soul in flight

Have you ever looked around

And seen the whole world going down

Have you ever wondered why

Some are unafraid to die

Have you ever felt the need

To travel at a hectic speed

Have you ever seen a face

That takes you to another place

Have you ever heard the cries

Of the victim when he dies

Have you ever felt the pain

Of the one who’s called insane

If you never have my son

Then you have not yet been born

11

Chandralekha

An old legend stated that the Waracka would take a life from one of its surrounding villages each year.

This had always proved to be true.

The circumstances surrounding each drowning were varied….

The most often remembered and most quietly discussed however were the ones motivated by restricted or forbidden love.

Those mostly occurred during the rainy season when her turbulent waters overflowed and eroded her banks.

“Chandralekha”

Chandralekha, Chandralekha

The moonlight’s filtering from above

Here I lie in the Guaracara

Smitten, bitten by your love.

Chandralekha, Chandralekha

I can recall a happier time

When you and I would stroll together

While I recited my latest rhyme.

Chandralekha, Chandralekha,

My lips are blue I cannot speak

Come, chant for me the Bhagavad Gita

Come quickly I am growing weak

Chandralekha, Chandralekha,

Have pity for these tears I cry

I can feel the end draw closer

And truly I’m afraid to die.

Chandralekha, Chandralekha

Are you waiting on the other side

Of the muddy Guaracara

For its current to subside

Chandralekha, Chandralekha

I am shaking from the cold

Come to me my Chandralekha

Forget the things you have been told

Chandralekha, Chandralekha,

Your beauty in my mind will stay

While these Guaracara waters

Bear my troubled soul away.

II

Book Two

Nine poems written over time during visits to my home village after my migration.

“A time of living and learning…. A time of awakening.”

12

A Calamitous End

“A Calamitous End”

The wild forest creatures no longer roam

The roses have all been crushed

The fish in the ocean have ceased to swim

The bird-songs have all been hushed

The mountains are crumbling to the ground

The rivers are going dry

The forests are cut the air is like dirt

The earth continues to die.

Yet we, in our sickening thirst for power,

Hasten this destructive trend

So as sure as the sun plods across the sky

We’d face a calamitous end

My friend

We’d face a calamitous end.

13

Cobo

“Cobo”

There was a cobo in the sky

He flew on high

He flew on high

The brown air came

It smothered him

The cobo cried

Then choked

Then died.

14

Clear And Clean

“Clear And Clean”

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

River of my youth

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Through valley of forest and fruit

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Wending its way to the sea

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Unobstructed and free.

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Through cocoa and sugarcane fields

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Along bamboo and carat-leaf shields.

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Rising with the ocean’s high tide

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Bringing saltwater fish for the ride

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Beautifying my village’s face

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Before it was choked and stifled by waste

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

In a happier, more innocent time

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Before greed, pollution and grime

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

Where we’d spent our childhood in play

Clear and clean flowed the Guaracara

How I wish it had remained that way.

15

We Legacy

“We Legacy”

…And He lifted his voice and said:

“I gave you calypso and soca…

I gave you sweet pan…

Parang, limbo and chutney…

The best tassa hand.

I gave you artists and craftsmen…

Tops in the world…

A rainbow of color…

Reflecting my soul.

I gave you culture and history…

From every region and time…

Religion, politics…

Labor and lime.

I gave you lovely, lush islands…

Teeming with wealth…

Scholars and sportsmen…

Beauty and health.

I gave you good, natural shelter…

I gave you the dream…

I shared my diversity…

To give you a team.

I gave you the assets…

The tools you will need…

And I gave you the freedom…

To sow a great seed.

So Trini, tell me your proudest legacy,

The one you most hope to save.”

And Trini replied:

“Ent I teach dem how to roll up dey bumsee?

An’ how to jump an’ wave, an’ misbehave!?”

16

Now

“Now”

Now you are young and free son

Now you can see the sky

Now you can hear the birds sing

Now you have tears to cry

Now you can whistle your tune son

Now every face seems bright

Now you can love all men son

Now you don’t fear the night

Now while your soul is free son

Now while your heart is brave

Sing, for like all other men son

Soon you’ll become a slave.

17

Take Me Away

“Take Me Away”

Take me away

On a journey to find

My childhood home

That I’d left far behind

Roaming strange lands

All over the world

Seeking to quiet

The doubts in my soul

Sing to me songs

Of the swift humming birds;

Of Waracka currents

And dirt country roads

The burst of the poui

On the Caratal hill

Matching the splendor

Of the red bougainville

Bathe me in the glow

Of the warm Rillo sun;

The dark evening shadows

When daylight is gone;

The caress of the evening

Trade-wind breeze

The hot lazy days

The life lived in ease

Shower me with the rhythms

Of my land

Calypso, parang,

Tassa and pan

Welcome me home

Whatever the cost

Teach me to live again

My spirit is lost.

18

A Long Time Ago

“A Long Time Ago”

A long time ago

When I was still young

When I traveled the whole world

And sang my sweet song

When the cities were distant

And the pathway was long

I chased after dreams so enchanting

A long time ago

When the girls were all fair

When my thoughts were not burdened

And the answers seemed clear

When behind every dark cloud

A lining appeared

I ignored the importance of planting.

A long time ago

When the muscles were firm

When I still had some distance

To the end of my term

When I felt there was much more

I still had to affirm

I traveled a path straight and narrow

A long time ago

With my head full of thoughts

When I dreamed of the battles

Still to be fought

When every new challenge

I actively sought

I pushed on with the force of an arrow

Now I reflect

On each passing day

Now that my years

Have all hurried away

Now that my hair

Has turned scraggly and gray

I wonder if those years were all wasted

But although my body

Is troubled by pain

Although my strength

Continues to wane

I’ll give all that I have

To enjoy once again

The pleasures of the life I had tasted.

19

The Rover

“The Rover”

Sometimes it plagues my soul to think

About the innocent child

Who you’d left with fits of misery

To follow my wanderings wild

And sometimes it breaks my heart to recall

The burning tears you’d shed

As you’d followed my footsteps faithfully

Through the rocky path I’ve led

But I selfishly ignored your pain

As my dreams pushed me onward again and again

Sometimes I think of the burdens you’ve borne

And the trials you’ve had to face

The struggles you’d shouldered everyday

As I moved you from place to place

The times you’d followed my every move

While hiding your panic and fear

Never knowing the troubles tomorrow would bring

Still faithful and always sincere

But I cannot help the life I lead

For I’m a rover, a gambler, a strange lonely breed

Sometimes I lie in my bed at night

And a fire engulfs my soul

I think of the loving faces we’d left

Of our child and our parents now old

I think of the homeland that nurtured our life

And I fight the temptation of tears

And no one but you knows my suffering

And my flowing river of fears

Yet I follow my heart’s unchanging rule

For I’m a poet, an artist, a dreamer, a fool.

20

My Footprints

“My Footprints”

I trudged along mindlessly

Chasing tiny crayfish and tadpoles

Burrowing to safety

Beneath the slushing, sucking mud

Haphazard footprints

Reflected the meandering course

Of my awkwardly blind progression

Stumbled missteps

Of dreams perceived

Hastily pursued

Then unceremoniously discarded

Along a warped and twisted route

Ah my child

How gravely I regret

My wasted years

Of indiscriminate wanderings

The flowing stream

Has washed my shallow steps away

And now you are left alone

Lost and afraid

Groping helplessly

For a steady path to follow.

About the Author

Kamalo Deen was born in 1944 in the village of Preysal in central Trinidad and grew up in Gasparillo. He has worked at various professions, including schoolteacher, waiter, composer, director, taxi driver, filmmaker, businessman, actor, courier and writer. As a Caribbean filmmaker he’s created three Trinidad and Tobago feature films: “Bacchanal Time”, “The Panman” and “Jahaji Family” and one short narrative film: “Sweet Fuh So”. Among his published works are “For All Our Children” a children’s book, “Curry Cascadoo” a novel and an E Book entitled “My Gasparillo 1940s -1960s” . Among his songs are “The Patriot’s Song”, “Dear John”, “Singer of Songs” and several others written for the movies “The Panman” and “Jahaji Family”. He’s traveled extensively and has worked and lived in Trinidad, Mumbai, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, New Jersey and New York where he presently resides. He’s married to Sherma (Ali) of Gasparillo and has two children Shyama & Ishmael and five grandchildren.

You can connect with me on:

https://www.pempaleh.com

https://www.facebook.com/kamalo.deen

https://www.facebook.com/groups/12705898918

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCUi-aCLynt6Nar5RaIv67UQ

Also by Kamalo Deen

CURRY CASCADOO

A story told in letters, poetry and recollections.

FOR ALL OUR CHILDREN

“FOR ALL OUR CHILDREN” is a collection of original Trinidad and Tobago songs and stories. One if its song’s “The Patriots Song”, arranged and performed by George Victory, was chosen by The National Days and Festivals Committee as its theme song for the 21st Anniversary of T&T’s Independence celebration.

My Gasparillo 1940s to1960s

“My Gasparillo – 1940’s to 1960’s” is based on the author’s memories of life in his hometown of Gasparillo, Trinidad during his growing up years.

Our Adventure In India

A road trip of our family villages in India.

MOVIE…. “Bacchanal Time”

A Trinidad & Tobago comedy set at Carnival time.

MOVIE…. “The Panman”

A troubled young man seeks a focus in his life and finds it in the pan, the national instrument of Trinidad & Tobago.

MOVIE…. “Jahaji Family”

A two hour long docu-drama which follows the exploits of an indentured immigrant from India to the sugar cane fields of Trinidad.

MOVIE…. “Sweet Fuh So”

Slightly comedic visit to a doctor’s office by a diabetic patient and his wife.