In Chains(P) Poems - Poems about In Chains(P)

Haiti, When Will the Chains End?

You bled, Haiti—
not from your sins,
but from theirs.

1994 they came, not to heal,
but to haunt.
To wrap democracy in boots,
and silence in oil-drenched contracts.

America—
not a land,
but a machinery of ruin.
You did not restore—
you erased.
You did not rebuild—
you ravaged.

You took a sacred island
and tore it from within.
In the name of liberty,
you planted despair.
In the name of order,
you

Chains On The Gate

Each day is the same; we all sit here and wait,
listening for the sound of the chains on the gate.
You see, that’s our signal; that’s our cue;
that’s how we know what we're to do.
We all soon learn what each sound is for,
even before someone's open the door.
We get excited when the laundry is clean,
the high

The chains are still there you've just got to look closer

Stalked all their life 
Stained by a crime not committed 
A permanent mark on black skin
A reminder how we will never fit in
Labelled as criminals
Despite being exonerated 

Probation was for those in need of reformation 
Not those who already good behaviour 
But any chance to stereotype 
The oppressors will take their chance
To keep the invisible

Chains for the Weak

If you hold a gun and I hold a gun,
we can talk about law.
If you hold a knife and I hold a knife,
we can talk about rules.
If you come empty-handed and I come empty-handed,
we can talk about reason.
But if you have a gun and I only have a knife,
then the truth lies in your hands.
If

Still, We Rise

You smell like sweet roses,
 But I've smelled the sweat of the weak.
 My sight is as keen as an eagle's eyes;
 I see the chains, rusted from years of injustice, binding the meek.

Segregation tried to tear us apart;
Tried to break our spirits, but we stood unbroken.

Like Carlotta Walls, I keep my head held high,

In the Hours Between

It was in the morning 
When I heard him snoring 
Like loud like a lion
He who falls from my eyes
Every sense feeling nonsense 
Early lights in goosebumps 

Served myself a red riddle
Leaving me tortured and energetic 
Shooting my lungs to no air
My kidneys helped me breathe
Each cough counting complaints 
In a peaceful war against the

The Day the Chains Were Broken

No trumpet blew, yet thunder came,
From streets once hushed, now lit with flame.
A tyrant's crown was cast away,
By barefoot hearts who dared to stay.

Emotions

A muted echo in the bone, 

A world I cannot call my own. 

The breath I take a heavy toll, 

A restless sprit, losing soul. 

 

Not darkness craved 

Nor fading light. 

Just weary limbs, 

That cannot fight. 

The endless climb, 

The endless fall. 

I yearn for nothing, 
Least of all. 

 

This constant thrum,

Red, White And Black Blues

The white man stole their land
now the red man has the blues
the white man sold their families
and the black man's still ill-used
the white man shot the American buffalo
now the red man sings the blues
the white man put their people in chains
and the black man's grief accrues
the white house is to blame
the Government just the same
the

Compassion's Rage

Your name leaves a bruise on my lips,
like a ghost that lingers, life to strip,
with eyes that threaten as they smile
and a voice that cuts, low and vile.
My heart cries out in silence dark,
which you incinerate with careless spark.
Your compassion's rage rules my life,
twisting love into chains, sharpening strife.
I speak my truth and ask for

Slave Without Chains

Slave without  the chains
hurt without pain
Wild yet untamed
Born with out a name
Why stand out while others are the same.

They tell me I'm free—
but my alarm clock owns my mornings,
my boss owns my days,
my credit score owns my dreams.

the commute becomes pilgrimage
to a temple of fluorescent lights
where I sacrifice eight hours
for numbers in an account
that

Life in the Penitentiary

Steel bars whisper cold truths at night,  
A jungle of killers, no room for fright.  
Survival ain't luck, it's blood and bone,  
Earn your name or die unknown.  

Respect ain't given, it's taken in war,  
A blade in the dark, a fist to the jaw.  
Weakness is death, don’t

Democracy of Chains

They came with books and broken laws,
With poison veiled in noble cause,
Whispers of "freedom" in their breath,
But all they brought was silent death.

"Athens," they claimed, "birthed this design"—
Yet nowhere did the ancients sign
A pact to force this frame on all,
To raise some up, to make most crawl.

When they arrived on Africa’s shore,
They found no beggars

Lenders of Chains

They came not with swords, but contracts in hand,
With smiles that curdled like poisoned sand.
World Bank, IMF — dressed in divine intent,
But behind every loan was a nation's lament.

They called it aid, we called it debt,
A collar on the neck, a future beset.
They promised bridges, but built no roads,
They promised freedom, then handed codes.

Our children’s

Soul Ties

Another drag... inhale, exhale, inhale, lungs fill with toxic smoke
another sip... fire glides down her aching throat
another croaking whisper to the one beside, although aloof and remote.

She laughs in the face of sorrow, trying in vain to hide behind her eyes
the sound is an open coffin, a high hysterical
 plea filled cry

I imagine she has

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