Poetry written by Winston D. Andrews, Courtesy of Winston D.Andrews

            They came from all over just as they did last year and for so many years before, to this

            meeting place, to indulge in this ritual that is Carnival.

            Their behavior was trancelike as though possessed, they gathered at ports of departure,

            each one determined that nothing could stop them from worshipping their God,

            King Carnival.

            Their transit to the venues of worship was tense with anticipation as they were moved

            by the memory of last year's ritual.

            Their arrival was met by fellow worshippers, greetings were exchanged, commitments

            were made, the God must be served with more splendor and glory than was last year.

            Food of the God was offered nightly at places called Calypso Tents; The food, the music,

            the rhythm, Calypso! Food of the God :– The sounds that bellow from the hilltops from

            ritualistic nooks and crannies called Pan Yards; Food of the God:- the Fetes, the Panorama,

            exciting, captivating; Food of the God :– Stimulating, appetizing, preparing for the feast

            of feasts, God King Carnival.

            Jouvert is the offering a million worshippers make.

            Ah! The God is pleased because this offering is bigger and better than was last year.

            God King Carnival opens his arms and embraces his subjects. “Let the Ritual begin”.

            Carnival is alive.

            Oh! Oh! A! A! Mama Yo! It's Carnival.

            “Tambu Bambu”, it's Carnival.

            “Jab Molassi”, it's Carnival.

            A million hearts in majestic unison; “Oh God Carnival”

            A million faces in transfigurated countenances of ecstacy

            “Don't stop the Carnival”.

             And so for forty-four hours two sister islands in the sun, pulsate, vibrate;

            rhythmic voices chanting; rhythmic bodies swaying, gyrating; shango drums,

            steel drums bellowing; the children, the fathers and the mothers jumping, shouting;

            color, every color mixing, blending; tempo hot; laughter loud; so much love,

            so much loving.

            Somebody shouts “Play Mas!”.

            The eyes of night smile with romance.

            The sound of music in the moonlight,

            sometimes soothing, sometimes exciting.

            Vows made.

            Some betrayed.

            God King Carnival reigns.

             The bowels of King Carnival is filled and so sleep calls, but the ritual must be

            drained to the very end.

            It's Las' Lap.

        New acquaintances tightly embrace,

            Music is softer, voices whisper,

            Tired feet scuffle, over each other they stumble,

            A guitar pan strums,

            A lone tenor responds,

            A base pan dies,

            Sleep has taken it's life.

            A lover whispers “Oh God, I'm tired”

            Collapses, energy expires.

            It's midnight.

            And there is the sound of silence.

            As God King Carnival sleeps.

THE RITUAL IS OVER!