Tributes to Cheddi Jagan

 

• THE LAST JOURNEY by Stephanie Bowry
  (Recited on March 5, 2006 at Babu John)

  The year was nineteen ninty seven.
  It was the sixth of March.
  A choir of angels in sick-room
  Stood in a splendid arch.

  And sweetly sung a cheerful song
  About a journey high;
  And gently, gently rocked the bed
  Between the earth and sky.

  Upon the bed a good man lay
  And not a word spoke he.
  His thoughts were on the journey high
  In the angels' story.

  His mind remembered the long road
  Which he had just come through.
  "Ah, well," thought he, "I walked it well
  And so would I this too."

  His eyes sought out the waiting road
  And with its guardian's met;
  The guardian nodded, the man too,
  Affirming both were set.

  The choir ended its sweet song
  And silence announced doom.
  The angels broke their splendid arch
  And death walked in the room.

  "He's dead, the President is dead!"
  The cry sailed through the night
  From USA to Guyana
  With speed as swift as light.

  "He's dead, he's dead!" the anguished cry
  Was relayed through the night
  And folks from out their slumber rose
  To set a torch alight.

  That light, unwavering, may go out
  To where his body lay,
  To guide his spirit safely home
  Before the break of day.

  And over all the land and thick
  Hovered a mist of gloom
  And deep within each beating heart
  Was a feeling of doom.

  And the feeling took proportions
  As slowly days went by;
  And messages of love poured in
  From earth and sea and sky.

  And folks kept vigil each night long
  One to cheer the other;
  And prayers night and day were said
  In his soul's good honor.

  His portrait on their breasts they wore
  And flags of mourning flew
  But when his body was brought home
  Their grief mightily grew.

  And grief and love combined, maintained
  Put out their dead with pride
  And then his flag-draped casket laid
  On gun carriage to ride.

  And set him on his last journey
  With pomp and majesty,
  Through flower-strewn and perfumed streets
  With royal company.

  From Georgetown moved the great long train,
  Through Demerara's coast,
  Over Abary to Berbice
  And up Corentyne's coast.

  Without a hitch the cortege moved
  'cept when to Buxton came-
  There waiting villagers took stand
  As if to try poor game.

  The train came to a breaking halt
  And the arresting throng
  Stormed the gun cart...but homage paid
  To the departed one.

  Thus when the train resumed its walk
  It moved with greater ease
  And with a jolly bounce and spring
  Before a happy breeze.

  And thousands, thousands walled the route
  And thousands were in tow,
  Thousands waited at Babu John
  And thousands wept in woe.

  And at the Babu John grave-yard
  They built a lofty bier
  And man and casket they heaved high
  With the tenderest care.

  They set alight the lofty bier
  And wept aloud to see
  The red-blue flames dance high and bright
  And lick the lavish ghee.

  All through the night the fire burned
  Till only ash was left;
  All through the night the mourners watched
  Both helpless and bereft.

  But morning came with scarlet light,
  With promises to bring
  New life, new joy, new hope, new song
  To put their pain to wing.

  And on that morning scarlet bright
  Folks lovingly picked up
  And gave Guyana's waters vast
  The President's ash to sup.

  Some swear that when the ashes touched
  The waters foamy white
  They heard a voice familiar say
  "Everything will be alright."

  Some swear that while his body burned,
  The fallen President,
  Out of the flames in plain view rose
  And up to heaven went.

  And some insist that on what night
  All nature is serene
  CHEDDI BHARAT JAGAN's face, can
  Among the stars be seen.

  © Stephanie Bowry 2006

   

© 1999 Cheddi Jagan Research Centre.  All rights reserved.