A Ballad To the Ancestors

A BALLAD TO THE ANCESTORS Like ripened fruits plucked from a flourishing tree, They were stolen from a lush paradise garden; A self sustained dwelling having no need of a warden; A beautiful paradise where all could work and live free; But the thieves of the sea came, taking them to the shore. Cabled towed neck to neck; waist shackled like others before. They were stacked in ship bellies reeking with death, feces and pee. God please let their souls’ survival spirit always abide within me? Though many of our ancestors chose the freedom of death Over the slavery of life, others chose for one reason or another, To survive the Middle Passage in hope of returning to the home they left; These arrived as chained exotic human cargo for trade and barter. From sea ships’ corrals to auction blocks, they were bought and sold. Skilled craftsmen they were—intelligence secret—skills used later to get free; Fooling bidders believing the dumb beasts were well worth their weight in gold. Oh God I pray their souls’ survival spirit will always abide within me. Four hundred years of bloody slaving labor from can see to can’t see— Our ancestors—bonded—free fodder fueling a peculiar institution In which one had to be fully white in order to really be free. And all blacks—objects of pleasure for all whites’ ravenous satisfaction. The black woman—fertile young and old—became its chief breeder. For pleasure or profit—fertile mother of bastards she was branded to be. For all children, black, mulatto or white, the black breast was the leaking feeder. God please allow their souls’ survival spirit to always abide within me? Yes, through skills, blood, sweat and tears, our ancestors learned to prevail; Leaving us here still able to struggle and fearlessly fight to be totally free. With the undying spirit of our ancestors’ audacious faith and hope, we will not fail; For God has decreed their souls’ survival spirit to always abide within you and me.