Posted in Poetry


“Carry it on now.

Carry it on.

Carry it on now.

Carry it on.

Carry on the tradition.

There were Black People since the childhood of


who carried it on.

In Ghana and Mali and Timbuktu

we carried it on.

Carried on the tradition.

We hid in the bush

when the slavemasters came

holding spears.

And when the moment was ripe,

leaped out and lanced the lifeblood

of would-be masters.

We carried it on.

On slave ships,

hurling ourselves into oceans.

Slitting the throats of our captors.

We took their whips.

And their ships.

Blood flowed in the Atlantic—

and it wasn’t all ours.

We carried it on.

Fed Missy arsenic apple pies.

Stole the axes from the shed.

Went and chopped off master’s head.

We ran. We fought.

We organized a railroad.

An underground.

We carried it on.

In newspapers. In meetings.

In arguments and streetfights.

We carried it on.

In tales told to children.

In chants and cantatas.

In poems and blues songs

and saxophone screams,

We carried it on.

In classrooms. In churches.

In courtrooms. In prisons.

We carried it on.

On soapboxes and picket lines.

Welfare lines, unemployment lines.

Our lives on the line,

We carried it on.

In sit-ins and pray-ins

And march-ins and die-ins,

We carried it on.

On cold Missouri midnights

Pitting shotguns against lynch mobs.

On burning Brooklyn streets.

Pitting rocks against rifles,

We carried it on.

Against water hoses and bulldogs.

Against nightsticks and bullets.

Against tanks and tear gas.

Needles and nooses.

Bombs and birth control.

We carried it on.

In Selma and San Juan.

Mozambique. Mississippi.

In Brazil and in Boston,

We carried it on.

Through the lies and the sell-outs.

The mistakes and the madness.

Through pain and hunger and frustration,

We carried it on.

Carried on the tradition.

Carried a strong tradition.

Carried a proud tradition.

Carried a Black tradition.

Carry it on.

Pass it down to the children.

Pass it down.

Carry it on. Carry it on now.

Carry it on TO FREEDOM!”

(from “Assata: An Autobiography” by Assata Shakur, (2016) Angela Davis)


My body remains on the sidelines watching, while my mind roams around the room, taking in the world around her. I am a wallflower. There could be two reasons for this: It could be due to me being an introvert or just that I am a Cancerian! I’m Cece Alexandra and I am so honoured that you’ve been led to delve into my thoughts here in this blog! I would describe myself as a Wallflower which is why I use words to express my deepest – and sometimes darkest - thoughts. Words have always been my strongest method of expressing myself. Growing up I always wanted to be a writer, however life and circumstances chipped away at my confidence until there was nothing left. Without words, I could no longer express myself. I am also Epileptic. Since being diagnosed, I have realised that my deepest fear is the day I am finally on my deathbed, haunted by the overwhelming regret that I never achieved my God-given potential. This realisation forced me to take a step of faith and put myself out there. Yes it makes me vulnerable, however within the process I not only want to be an inspiration to myself; I want to be an inspiration to other women – to be whatever you want to be. Embrace the fear and doubt and utilise that as the fuel you need to push through! Life is for living to the fullest. Life is for loving, for living true to yourself and to the people around you. Life however, can also be crippling, dark and overwhelming. But you are not alone. This thought alone is what will help you get up from the ground.

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