“Then the full weight of his burden fell upon him. The rich walls wheeled away, and before him lay the cold rough moor winding on through life, cut in twain by one thick granite ridge —here, the Valley of Humiliation; yonder, the Valley of the Shadow of Death. ...
“But harken, O Death! Is not my life hard enough, —is not that dull land that stretches its sneering web about me cold enough, — is not all the world beyond these four little walls pitiless enough, but that thou must needs to enter here— thou, O Death?
About my head the thundering storm beat like a heartless voice, and the crazy forest pulsed with the curses of the weak; but what cared , … Was thou so jealous of one little coign of happiness that thou must needs enter there— O Death?” (Dubois, 1904)
Of life’s despair,
boughs broken down
Headless horsemen stirring round
In search of souls to ferry to the underground
Overworked minds and underwhelmed hearts
Ripped open— torn apart;
By the rivers and seas of life
O Death,
Is it not my time yet?
“And if you find that riddle hard to read, remember that yonder Black Boy finds it just a little harder; if it is difficult foe you to find and face your duty it is a shade more difficult for him; if your heart sickens in the blood and dust of battle, remember that to him the dust is thicker and the battle is fiercer. No wonder the wanderers fall! No wonder we point to thief and murderer, and haunting prostitute, and the never-ending throng of unhearsed dead! The Valley of the Shadow of Death gives few of its pilgrims back to the world.” (Dubois, 1904)
The riddle of the uncleansed masses
Shackled to the shadows in the Valley of Death
Evil be, both damned and feared;
Protracted minds and closed off ears.
Ashamed of the ability to maintain.
Shot through the heart with lies,
No more tears.
Brought to the bottom,
Told that it could never rise to the top
Unable to fully stand still,
Incapable of a full stop.
The riddle of life,
Of the unclean masses.
The wretched of the earth.
Awaiting its change
pilgrimage back from the underworld.
“Then the full weight of his burden fell upon him. The rich walls wheeled away, and before him lay the cold rough moor winding on through life, cut in twain by one thick granite ridge —here, the Valley of Humiliation; yonder, the Valley of the Shadow of Death. And I know not which be darker, —no, not I. But this I know; in yonder Vale of Humiliation stand today a million swarthy meant, who willingly would.
So the man groped for the light; all this was not Life, —it was the world wandering of a soul in search of itself, striving of one vainly sought his place in the world,, ever haunted by the shadow of death that is more than death, — the passing of a soul that has missed its duty.’ (Dubois, 1904)
Undone in the light,
Set free in darkness.
Sorrow song singing martyrs.
Peaces at the foot of a thrown.
Pieces.
Burdened backs
Furled brows.
Apparitions passing through the abyss.
Fighting figures hoping to reach
the other side of its darkness.
Towards the light of the soul.
Du Bois, W. E. B. (1904). The souls of Black folk.
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