The Rasta Years
By David Ramgeet
As the wind blows thru my dreadlocks
Caressing my Jamaican face
De-ja vu feelings take me back
To a distant time and place
To a time of Rastafari
And Iya-binghi chants
A time of ital living
Before my heart transplant
Before I fled to Babylon
To chase an American dream
Before I lost my passion
My youth and self-esteem Back then I was a warrior
Proud, fierce and strong
Relentless in my struggles
A righteous Rasta man
I remember Rasta brethren
Youth and elder dreads
And Rastafari sisters
In colorful tie-heads
Going to Rasta meetings
Dreads stuffed under tams
Rasta celebrations
JahLoveMuzik jams Back then things were cheaper
But funds were always low
Still we dressed so regal
You would never know
Yes those were the lean years
When I ‘n I was poor
But idrin shared with idrin
And no one kept a score
Some would have a spliff to share
Some a chalice load
Some ital food or change to spare
Before man hit the road Jamaicans.com
Poems
The Rasta Years
18 years agoby DavidRamgeet
6
As the wind blows thru my dreadlocks
Caressing my Jamaican face
De-ja vu feelings take me back
To a distant time and place
To a time of Rastafari
And Iya-binghi chants
A time of ital living
Before my heart transplant
Before I fled to Babylon
To chase an American dream
Before I lost my passion
My youth and self-esteem
Back then I was a warrior
Proud, fierce and strong
Relentless in my struggles
A righteous Rasta man
I remember Rasta brethren
Youth and elder dreads
And Rastafari sisters
In colorful tie-heads
Going to Rasta meetings
Dreads stuffed under tams
Rasta celebrations
JahLoveMuzik jams
Back then things were cheaper
But funds were always low
Still we dressed so regal
You would never know
Yes those were the lean years
When I ‘n I was poor
But idrin shared with idrin
And no one kept a score
Some would have a spliff to share
Some a chalice load
Some ital food or change to spare
Before man hit the road
Now those days are far long gone
And the ways we used to live
And a different struggle pushes me on
In a land that don’t forgive
I struggle now with paying rent
A phone bill and car note
Winter’s high utility rates
And wifey’s new fur coat
Times and places all have changed
But memories still remain
Of Rasta vibes and Rasta lives
That I’ll never see again
Yes, as a cool breeze filters through
My graying natty dread
I glimpse a life that I once knew
And a Rasta tear is shed.
