The Slave Girl
From fabrics torn, in ruin, she hail,
Above the deck, beneath the sail,
Above silent meadow, the sea,
Her frosty breath, in doom, she see.
Her fondness torn, her kids apart,
Though love follows her broken heart,
Her sorrow tears on rusted chains,
For holding children once again.
The howling steam erased skies,
And fright gallops the silent cries,
As faces pale in feeble grip,
And sea moaning the crowded ship.
The days are past, remedies none,
The burned down farms from firing sun,
They bent on knees for kids to feed,
Beneath the feet for coin, indeed.
Her husband dead from bones to sweat,
Hard labor earning, closing, debt,
She buried body, beneath the farm,
And begs for mercy, waiting harm.
The beats in rage far fierce than flame,
The bells were rung, with chains they came,
Her toes were trembling, wrath unfolds,
They tortured, beat and tied her, cold.
While taken heart and soul from kids,
The slave in chain with tearful lids,
They dragged and stripped in crowded street,
And brought with slaves to ship, the fleet.
Through cries unheard and night she sails,
With slaves in ship with fuming trails,
To hungers deep in scalding cold,
And chapped lip-lines numb, breaking hold.
Her skin was pale, the hunger tale,
As blue veins rose beneath her nails,
To fading night, her dim eyes sleep,
Her moon-light fades and die asleep.
©Anees Rahman
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