June 1767
High on stormy salty seas,
Whip lashes on backs,
Scratched with thorny brushes,
Washed with salty seas.
Darkness,
Closest ally,
Battles with chains,
Raw corn,
Forced down the throats of former men,
Now only shame in their possession,
Once a day,
Once a night,
Flung in flanks,
By the stir of the seas,
Stirring hopes to be free.
Songs in native tongues,
A sole source of comfort,
Faint memories of home,
A reason to live on,
Chained feet,
Scarred wrists,
Strength chained deep within,
Still,
No sense of direction,
No sense of belonging,
No sense of life long smiles,
No sense of skipping kids at home,
No sense at all.
Still,
They smile,
They may see not,
But we see now,
Former in chains,
Now in control.
Once in cotton farms,
Now in a control of farms,
Once players of flutes,
Now heads nod to their beats,
Free slaves I say,
Products of life long tears
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