My skin, coloured as shades of earth,
Considered of no worth than dirt;
They called me nigger,
And made me a gold-digger.
They made sweet bitter,
And filled pools with my tears.
The world looked on;
Apparently, no cared.
My hands became acquainted
With miry depths of earth,
As it scavenged for Pearls
To enrich their pockets
And deck their maidens necks.
While my daughters served
At tables furnished by my sweats;
Ravaged and ravished
By the lords they served;
Their bodies, a site of struggle,
Shafts of evil, driving pleasure and torture.
I watched my sons grow in a culture
That stole away their hopes of a future.
For they were birthed into pain
And misery was their labour’s gain.
Gloom swept over my soul,
As I pondered ‘what was our crime
That we were treated no more than grime’?
Will my children ever cease to weep?
Will the hands of time sweep
Away this disdain and smear of filth?
In the darkness of my soul, a glimmer
Pierces through to light a path of hope.
It might not be now, but it will soon be dawn;
Our shame and pain will be undone
And my children will see the light of day
The dark clouds of these dreary moments
Will release torrents, to wipe off the dirt
And refresh us from years of torment.