• am i a slave?
    i feel the wood rock slowly, like a cradle
    from childhood.
    rough grain is coarse beneath my callous fingers
    so used to driving the oxen
    or tending the babe
    who i will never getto hold in my arms again.
    over sea, under sky,
    rocking the gentle waves.
    am i a slave?

    the whip, the clash,
    words full of hatred
    emptying on our backs.
    scars reopened
    both physical,
    and emotional.
    i scream for the pain to stop
    for the hurt to go away.
    but my cries fall onto deaf ears.
    why do these people have a right
    to take away ours?
    breathing slow, shallow,
    cousins, families
    crowd together to protect us.
    our many tears
    wah the wind-blown deck.
    am i a slave?

    the hot sand hurts
    not only our eyes, but our tounges
    and our faces.
    the air is bitter with death and decay.
    it is better to die
    than to endure such hardship.
    pale men
    hitting us,
    exchanging coins for men and women and children.
    what have we done to desrve such hatred?
    i am on a platform
    white men look at me
    as if i am nothing but an animal
    with nothing to fear
    and with nothing to hope for.
    nothing.
    i am sure now
    that i am a slave of body.

    the clink and rattle of coins exchanging hands and pockets
    i am driven off.
    the long ride is over
    my work has begun.
    toiling when the sun is high,
    fields growing tall
    and shimmering golden
    like oceans of gold.
    it is beautiful.
    the lash of a whip comes down
    and snaps me out of my reverie.
    forever working.
    is all hope lost?
    w can only pray
    to whatever we believe
    that this will end.
    soon, i say,
    this is sure to end.
    may my spirit roam free
    so that i may not be a slave of mind
    and only of body.

    we must remember these people
    as they journeyed from one coast to another,
    that they represent freedom
    in ways we cannot.
    their spirits were free
    and their bodies could not be kept in caves.
    they were free.
    is it too much to ask
    that we at least remember them?
    it has been said
    that if we do not learn about history
    we are condemmed to repeat it.
    will we not give thanks
    and appreciate
    that we have the will to live,
    the gift to walk and breath and talk
    and most of all,
    to have freedom against all odds?
    that we may overcome our fears
    for there is noting to fear but fear itself.
    let us live life to the fullest
    in honor of what we are,
    what we will become,
    and the freedom to be.