Pass Port by Edgar Nkosi White (For Port, son of Black Sam)

Die on time Port
Not when they tell you.
Your father played the Fife
(Played it like an angel)

But you found it too heavy a burden to carry in your arms.
So you took up the Steel Pan instead.
You hid from the Fife.

They said you were good on Steel Pan
So there you stayed
Awaiting redemption
And the gloved applause
Of the Montserrat Buckra elite.

They laughed at your shuffle walk
Called you "Charlie Chaplin" in secret.

You thought when they called you
It was to enter their lives
But it was only for the season
To entertain them
(and later cut their yards)

It hurt you that you would never in their eyes
Be your father!

You thought they'd let you teach their children
The Grace of music
(or the music of Grace)
But they never saw you.

Never saw more than your name:
"Port"
They drove you to the sea instead.

When a musician leaves music
He leaves life.

Then all you are is a work-man.

A thing for young men to laugh after and chase
In your rags of many colors.

Pride is a thing as hard to find

As a two legged man in Lookout!

The most you have to carry
is the title: My Father's Son

The business of night .