Colours, draped over background
by Michael Walkerjohn
green, yellow, and brown;
setting suns cooling
turns to twilight's settling down;
rhythms islands, Jamaican
sounds round and round;
tones aflame in nature's evenings,
time's stress quietly drowned.
Rasta's beat woos this crowd;
stations handled, tickets sold,
‘Ja' praised, no doubts;
minds, hearts, and souls tones tout;
travels' they're past,
survivals mete; unto Ja we shout.
Stage sounds, resound to heaven's highs,
ah, the music's sweets;
plays loud, does the reggaes' heat,
‘Natty Congo', pride's spirits beat;
centered scene, light's night,
rhythm's sound, soul's teeth;
tight, this band, five men aloud,
the crowd's heart, toe's tapping feet.
Flowing on, the reggae builds,
into life's energies surreal;
music, blessed through Ja's kiss,
the setting sun, life's deal;
Ja's message, outs men's hardened hearts,
its taste his highest seal;
supreme this mark; full rhythm's torch
in sounds, ‘Natty Congo's' word is real.