From afar are chains
clanging, dim far away,
deep approaching neigh.
just in moments
are chain gangs,
cuffed on both feet
approaching wearily.

With accoutrements
of manacles, collars,
belly chains and
coffle ropes stuck
firmly and bound to
their flesh,they
wailed as they sailed.

Like lifeless jellies
drenched, stenched
and thrashed, finished
and banished, they
tearily walked and worked.

Without hope of where
the journey would end,
in their heart and soul
was courage and zeal
burning passionately
like grass, believing
to see them through.

Merchants threatening
with sounds as of bombs
and shrapnels, they
lashed on their skins
with flagrum, voice
of deep groan and moan.

Captors in grim and in grin,
pulling them forcefully
along, they hailed and
chorused sarcastically
“loots and bounties of war”.

Sons against dads,
daughters against
moms, retrenched
from self, entrenched
to self. A one man’s
struggle in the jungle.

Covering mileages
from the highest plateaux
to the lowest plains,
from the dead sea
to the red sea, they are
stiffened and hardened
but drained on every side.

“When will our freedom
and kingdom come”?
they sang with chants
of pain coming forth their lips
yet gazing the light to liberty.

At the gate,
between freedom
and subjugation,
a choice to make
or a voice to stake.
a lifetime grace
to save the entire race.

Excysted from
mental indoctrination
they fought.
with their last
ounce and breathe,
atlas they won.

Survived from
brutes and savagery
they saw the light
shining like the
celestial city.
A whole new world,
a brand new form.

Relieved from
tortuous grief,
in grumble and in
grudge, then came
a ray of beauty
and a song
of joy lightening.

For the quest
was unpleasantly
horrible but the

They called us
uncivilized but
civilization actually
began with us.

They called us weak
but our strength
brought about
the glory they relish
in their lands.

We sojourned as few
but today we are the
populous of the entire
black human race.

For we glory in
our past which
birthed the present
and secured the future
of our children yet unborn.

The lost in Medieval,
a story foretold for a
journey untold.
whispers of gory
to glory, memories
of sorrow to story.

An evergreen
script forever in
our monument,
stuck deep in our
archives, handed
from generation
to generation
this life and in afterlife.

Blood of our fathers,
Their voices crying
For justice from slavery,
A poultice for freedom
Condemning vicious brutality
From fatality to fertility.

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