Bessie Smith

They say the art of song already existed

But you reinvented the existence of the blues Like the arrival of the storm

Driven by a voice of granite and gold

From the blues to the barrelhouse and back Your point of no return was never fixed

For your horizon has always looked different Until the angel of death appeared to you

Your songs of rock and besmirched glass Scattered the hearts without mercy

Covered in the moss of the village squares 

But oh your songs are mightier than the wind

The empress died in an anonymous grave Surrounded by the myths of a hazy night That no scholar would have predicted You will always be known as the empress

- Sam Endavour, 2019