The hope and the dream

Jun 19, 2020 Letters

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Dear Editor,

It is Thursday morning as I write, as a nation waits with indrawn breath for the coming of 13:00hrs and whatever lies beyond. I trust that it is only of the positive and the nationally helpful, and that is what I greet my fellow Guyanese with on Friday morning. Against all hope I hope, in spite of the harrowing daily nightmares of the last 18 months, I dare to dream many dreams, which I share now with my fellow citizens, be they Brown or Black, Indigenous or foreign, the rich mixtures of our soil and blood or the pureness of our human streams.

As I hope, my first action starts with a bow to Dr. Irfaan Ali, who I believe is this country’s new president. My position on him does not matter; what does is what he now must come to epitomize. I encourage him and I wish he and his team the best in the days ahead, with the many challenges that are part of the path before them and us. I believe that with a cleanliness of vision much could be achieved. I hope that Mr. Bharrat Jagdeo, himself a former head of state, can find it in himself to be partner and leader from the back (from the back) to help navigate the powerful rapids along the way. He must rise up above himself, beyond those characteristics that he knows too well, and which could hinder more than help, harm more than heal.

This society is in urgent need of much healing, of this, I hope, and I dream. That the tents will be folded, that the trumpets will be muted, and that there will the first early rustles of what is acceptable and calming. And with all of this in mind, I cast my eyes first to the two leaders already named, and now on my former commander-in-chief, Mr. David Granger. It has been a most battering struggle, and from which much has been learned, I hope and sense that so much could be gained. I did learn (to my regret), but I do sense (in my hope) that greatness could be gained (I so dream). It is why I am here, at this time, in this stormiest of passages, when I have choices not available to too many.

I want to learn and hope and dream some more. By some blessing, I think that we can do it, but only if we do so together. This is the only public service in which I am interested today and evermore; that I could lend voice and pen and energy (such as they are) to the unity and harmony that holds some promise to take us someplace.

On this Friday, still ahead of my writing at this time, some first form of democracy should have prevailed. I so hope. But there is so much more: tougher, more frustrating, definitely draining, but infinitely worth more to stir in dedicating towards the struggling for the harmony distanced from, trampled upon, and mocked over thoughtlessly and unknowingly. We may have all the oil, but if we have no peace, then what do we have, other than the hatreds that hurt us mortally?

I would not want to be part of that, but I go nowhere. It is why I hope and dream on Thursday before 08:00hrs that after 13:00hrs on this same day, there will be readying to greet the grandeur of a different new day on Friday morn. I have been disappointed in this local life so often, what is one more, should my hopes fall on stony minds, and my dreams shatter on rocks of resistance. I am confident that the grace to manage will come. As for this society and its prospects-its future, I would have to think again, if only the old is what is new.

I say let it be a different time starting this Friday. It might be difficult, but for the first 100 days, I will try to say nothing about any new governance developments. That much is owed, that much must be delivered. To the new leaders and their groups, from government to opposition, I send my best.

Sincerely,

GHK Lall

“WALTER ANTHONY RODNEY”

By Jai Lall

Every day, outside, Guyanese are tirelessly Working,
But inside their bodies, they are painfully hurting.
Burdened with multi responsibilities, never shirking,
Labouring under the hot sun, who will hear them crying.
Who wants to listen to the call of the poor People,
Free from colonialism, yet a liberty still in shackle?

Soaring high in the sky, spread the wings of an eagle,
Looking down to see six races praying for a miracle.
Arms locked together and forming a common Alliance,
Hoping and praying, swearing to a common allegiance.
Facing a mutual enemy, the bugles blow in defiance,
An army of foot soldiers, willing and ready for guidance.

A country with many streams and lakes, but of sweet and salt Water,
Three counties and three rivers, their courses, this land did alter.
Aims and objectives well-conceived, a target to ultimately foster,
It is now or never, the time is ripe to be rid of a terrible monster.
Young and healthy, rearing to go, voices filled with Acrimony,
Such was the moment, birthed, with the souls locked in harmony.

Ready and willing, regardless of the consequences, a testimony,
Raised from the struggles exposed and experienced from a colony.
It was not the likes or looks of a Mickey Rooney or Mitt Romney,
But the love for a nation under siege, with the bees but no honey.
Not a minute to waste for a struggle on a steep and upward journey,
A war declared on a rogue regime that even today, remains so looney.

A brilliant mind, history in the making with his prolific Writing,
Gone but not to be forgotten, only true friends left wondering.
Once a knitted family, an opportunity squandered and mourning,
Now disgusted opportunists flirting under the guise as mourning.
What happened to the teachings, grounded in ideological Principle,
That you once vowed to love and defend, you, let them strangle?

Never before, now your conscience pricks you, sharper than a needle,
Without a testicle, how do you handle evil, desecrated with sheer trouble?
Walking down memory lane, Tiger Bay had portrayed the unique Ambiance,
Providing the root, stem, branches and leaves to blossom a resistance.
The rich and sweet fruit, eaten, enjoyed and discarded as no evidence,
It was a tragic day, a loss to the world, yet you shun from that incidence.

A name to remember with a doctor designation in front of Walter,
Such a waste of invaluable intelligence that bore the word slaughter.
What a tragedy, it was a sad and disappointed affair in each quarter,
As the hands of evil doers stroke the fire with a flame that grew hotter.
It had nothing to do with negligence, so pleaded the brother of Anthony,
But one who lived to suffer the pain and pay with his life, to die in agony.

So phony are the brothers who underscore his memory in mocking irony,
Today, they align in symphony with destabilizers to enjoy an unhappy ceremony.
Let this country never forget, the man who once walked and talked, name Rodney.
With hypocrites, joining hands with the brother’s murderers, shooting baloney,
Name and fame, they disgustingly sold their minds, hearts and souls for money,
In the arena, many a Brutus, dangling their daggers, smiling as a bragging attorney

Follower

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