Kenniesha Burrell :Poem Weh Wi Come From – A Jamaican Chant"

 

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"Weh Wi Come From – A Jamaican Chant"
By Kenniesha Burrell

Mi born in di belly of rhythm an’ sun,
Where struggle meet dance, and war done wid fun.
From Emancipation to di bold “Independence,”
Wi bun chains an’ claim wi own existence.

A likkle island, but wi voice loud fi true,
Out of many, one people—every hue.
Skin like chocolate, caramel, deep gold an’ jet,
Every shade of blessing—Jamaica set!

Wi history deep like Blue Mountain trail,
From sugarcane blood to freedom hail.
Dem buss wi back, yuh hear? But wi never drop—
Wi rise, wi fight, wi tek di top!

Yuh ever tek bus pon di Half-Way ride?
Smaddy squeezing up tight, dem nah slide.
Di conductor bawl, “Shift yuh likkle self!”
While di driver seh, “Mi soon reach, mi haffi help.”

Jamaican man—sweet talk and raw,
Him coulda mek yuh vex, den love yuh wid law.
Rude but charming, prideful like king,
One minute him gone, next minute—ring!

Food? Mi cyan even explain di taste,
Ackee, saltfish, curry goat, nuh waste.
Jerk pon di roadside, stew peas wid grace,
Mango juice run down wi likkle face.

Wi talk in riddim, wid spice an’ twist,
A “weh yuh deh?” sound like a sweet lyricist.
Wi fight hard—nuh tek back wi chat—
But next day? Wi good. Done wid dat!

Mi see side chick an’ wife a dance in sync,
Both a dem wine, den share drink fi drink.
“Gyal, a you wear it betta, mi haffi say.”
“No man, is your shoes mi waan borrow today!”

Wi vibes contagious, like bruk out beat,
Pon di dancefloor, bruk neck an’ bruk feet.
From Bogle to Daggerin, di fashion tight,
Mi granny wear fishnet pon Emancipendence Night!

Di politics? Lawd have mercy and stress,
PNP, JLP, green shirt vs. orange dress.
But when di rain fall an’ di hurricane near,
Is neighbour help neighbour—clear clear!

Mi see PNP man an’ JLP fren,
Sit down a domino table again.
When things serious, wi drop di war,
Because deep down, wi know who wi are.

Wi mend like cloth torn by life and licks,
A likkle needle, some rum, an’ tricks.
Friend tun enemy, den turn fren once more,
Cuss inna street, hug up pon di corner store.

Our flag a sermon stitched in thread:
Black fi strength, green fi life ahead,
Gold like sunrise after wi cry,
Hope born from sorrow—we cyan deny.

We free, we fierce, we loud, we proud,
We bruk out in silence, or dance inna crowd.
From hillside yam to uptown class,
Every Jamaican love fi buss a laugh.

From market women to school pickney,
To big man weh just “try a ting,” yuh see.
We dream, we scheme, we build, we mend,
From start to finish—Jamaicans to di end.

So when yuh ask mi weh mi come from...
Mi seh wid pride an’ vibes dat strong:
“Mi come from di land weh bun Babylon,
Mi come from Jamaica—Weh Freedom Began.”

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