Jah Shaka Obituary, Death – It is with great regret that I learn the great Jah Shaka Official has died away. I pulled out an old poem that I wrote in 2017 after going to one of his dances in Bruce Grove, which is located in North London. RIP! The Bubbling Fountain (at 5 a.m.) It’s 5 a.m. in the dance, and Shaka is in charge of the room. Dready leaping darkness, people rocking and dubwise sweat drops, confidently immersed in the magnificence of this small man’s huge sound system. dready jumping darkness, people rocking and dubwise sweat drips.
the vibrations grow too strong in the dance at five in the morning, Shaka takes control of the hall while the constant pounding of mystic drums weeds out those with weak hearts. A dreadful MDMA error is carried from the room and out onto the street during this time. When vegetable matter collides with paper, a spark, a flame, and then smoke, explosions of smoke occur in the early morning corners.
The white panels that make up the ceiling light crimson, shadows are cast by human bodies and speaker boxes, and the bass whirls as if it were ishense about our feet. As he repeats “forever, ever, ever, ever,” Techo-Nyah’s fast drum and dub bass continue to permeate further and deeper into the listener’s consciousness. Somewhere between the floorboards of carnal desire and spiritual pleasure, we are hollering and cheering and giving thanks to a variety of Goddesses and Gods.
time is it currently? Shaka is the undisputed master of the dance hall at five in the morning. Stew from Italy, carrot cake with silver frosting, water from the faucet, and love amongst people of all different ethnicities. Can’t hear the chords, blackness, Jah Rastafari fire eyes in a chariot, playing Dennis Brown who says that life is like a bubbling fountain, and I feel it when it’s 5 a.m. in the dance and Shaka rules the hall. Heart outside the rib cage; mirror rattles in the gents from the subs still pounding and twisting; can’t hear the chords.