The voices on the wind speak to me
Sharing their mirthless whispers
Screaming their timeless secrets
The South-Easter filling our lungs
Daring us all to listen.
A tale of enslavement
Minds and bodies bound
An ancient story of tomorrow
Spilling from fetid lips
Sputtering and blistering
Swallowing the truth decayed.
I am a child of slavery
Still remembering, feeling, reeling
From seeing the rusted chains intact
Amid the squalor and scorn
Of criminalized poverty
That is my brothers’ legacy
And the sons and daughters’ lot.
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