"Conch Meat" - Bahamas AI Art
©A. Derek Catalano
Don't Beat Me Like Conch
From turquoise depths, a treasure drawn,
The conch, a life, a Bahamian dawn.
Its spiraled house, a pearly throne,
Yet on the block, it makes its moan.
The hammer falls, a rhythmic dread,
To break the will, the flesh to spread.
A culinary rite, they say it's best,
To pound it thin, put chew to test.
Don't beat me like conch, I cry,
Beneath a searing, endless sky.
The wooden mallet, scarred and old,
A story of the sea, I'm told.
Each strike a shock, a muscle's tear,
Transforming strength to tender fare.
Soaked in lime, with peppers bright,
A delicacy, a pure delight.
But when the hand that wields the blow
Belongs to those who ought to know
The people's heart, its fragile trust,
And grinds our hopes into the dust,
Don't beat me like conch, I plead,
Don't sow that bitter, bruising seed.
They mount the podium, voices ring,
Of prosperous days the songs they sing.
With honeyed words and practiced smile,
They charm the trusting for a while.
A litany of vows proclaimed,
Our future bright, meticulously framed.
Then deals are struck in shadowed rooms,
As silent hopes become our tombs.
The promises, like shells, are cracked,
Integrity is what they've lacked.
The truth submerged, the waters riled,
A nation's spirit is defiled.
Don't beat me like conch, I shout,
Let honesty at last break out!
The gaslight flickers, dims the sight,
They tell us that the dark is light.
"You misunderstand, you misconstrue,"
The age-old tricks, forever new.
They spin the facts, a tangled weave,
And what we know, they'd disbelieve.
Our grievances, like grains of sand,
Are brushed aside by their command.
They speak of progress, wealth untold,
While common dreams are bought and sold.
The people's voice, a distant hum,
Beneath the weight, we grow so numb.
Don't beat me like conch, I sigh,
As fractured faith begins to die.
The fisherman, with weathered hand,
Respects the bounty of the land,
And of the sea, its ebb and flow,
A wisdom that the currents know.
He takes what's needed, nothing more,
And honors life upon the shore.
But those who plunder, grasp and take,
For fleeting power, for their own sake,
They pound the spirit, raw and bare,
With callous words and little care.
They tenderize our will to fight,
And dim the flame of freedom's light.
Don't beat me like conch, I pray,
Let truth and justice win the day.
The conch, though battered, finds its place,
In vibrant salads, adding grace.
Its essence nourishes, sustains,
A symbol of Bahamian gains.
And though we're bruised, our spirits sore,
We rise and stand, and ask for more
Than empty words and broken trust,
Than policies that turn to rust.
They tell us that the dark is light.
"You misunderstand, you misconstrue,"
The age-old tricks, forever new.
They spin the facts, a tangled weave,
And what we know, they'd disbelieve.
Our grievances, like grains of sand,
Are brushed aside by their command.
They speak of progress, wealth untold,
While common dreams are bought and sold.
The people's voice, a distant hum,
Beneath the weight, we grow so numb.
Don't beat me like conch, I sigh,
As fractured faith begins to die.
The fisherman, with weathered hand,
Respects the bounty of the land,
And of the sea, its ebb and flow,
A wisdom that the currents know.
He takes what's needed, nothing more,
And honors life upon the shore.
But those who plunder, grasp and take,
For fleeting power, for their own sake,
They pound the spirit, raw and bare,
With callous words and little care.
They tenderize our will to fight,
And dim the flame of freedom's light.
Don't beat me like conch, I pray,
Let truth and justice win the day.
The conch, though battered, finds its place,
In vibrant salads, adding grace.
Its essence nourishes, sustains,
A symbol of Bahamian gains.
And though we're bruised, our spirits sore,
We rise and stand, and ask for more
Than empty words and broken trust,
Than policies that turn to rust.
We are the soul, the vibrant hue,
The resilient heart, forever true.
So hear our plea, and understand,
Across this archipelagoed land:
Don't beat me like conch, no more,
But serve the people you swore for.
Let every word be clear and plain,
And build our island home again,
Not on the backs of those you've stunned,
But with the strength of everyone.
The conch's resilience, we embrace,
To find our dignity, our space.
©A. Derek Catalano/Gemini
