Ode to a Rastafari

If Bob Marley,
Would have loved soccer less,
Would have loved dancing less,
Would he have let those doctors,
Cut off his melanomic toe?
Was it death that gave him peace,
Or peace that gave him death?

If Bob Marley
Would have never been teased,
Son of a white man,
Who he never did see,
Would he have found the truth
In the company of love?
Would he have found Jah,
Without Trench Town?

He smoked his ganga
To find a way to the lyrics.
Sang his reggae songs,
Word of the prophet.

What's a man to do,
When he loses his identity
To a terrifying root,
Braiding through his body?

When his dreadlocks finally fell,
Into the hands of grieving friends,
He lost his grand courage,
And fled his native island.

In fear he went to Germany,
In search of a cure,
A small frightened man
In a giant field of snow.

That man who found his strength
In the teachings of his god,
His Jah, our Jah,
All the world's Gods,

The people of Jamaica,
Begged for his return.
When he did, they hailed him
As if he were the king of Ethiopia.

Dear Bob Marley,
How we exalt you,
Planting in our hearts
The rhythm of the word,
Dancing to your music,
Singing your holy songs,
The movement of your love grows
Forever wider miles.

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