>> |
12/12/11(Mon)09:27:03 No.367720511Since
the dawn of history the Negro has owned the continent of Africa – rich
beyond the dream of poet’s fancy, crunching acres of diamonds beneath
his bare black feet and yet he never picked one up from the dust until a
white man showed to him its glittering light.
His land swarmed with powerful and docile animals, yet he never dreamed a harness, cart, or sled.
A
hunter by necessity, he never made an axe, spear, or arrowhead worth
preserving beyond the moment of its use. He lived as an ox, content to
graze for an hour.
In a land of stone and timber he never sawed a foot of lumber, carved a block, or built a house save of broken sticks and mud.
With
league on league of ocean strand and miles of inland seas, for four
thousand years he watched their surface ripple under the wind, heard the
thunder of the surf on his beach, the howl of the storm over his head,
gazed on the dim blue horizon calling him to worlds that lie beyond, and
yet he never dreamed a sail. |