Part of the "Cultural Bridge Building" series of articles by Rene Wadlow

My negritude is not a stone,
nor deafness flung out against the clamour
of the day
my negritude is not a white speck of dead water
on the dead eye of the earth
my negritude is neither tower nor cathedral.
Return to My Native Land

We who have grasped the spirit’s hand
Are not divided when we part;
Though men by ghostly shapes possessed,
Map their false bounds of ‘East’ and ‘West’.
James Cousins “Farewell—Yet Not Farewell”