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The enslaved
The crops grows from the tears of the enslaved
The ground quakes from the harsh sound of the whip
Their calloused hands evidence of a life of painful labour
Wounds etched their skin
A twisted reminder of what happens when you don't comply
Their bones crushed under the weight of exhaustion
Their eyes burned by the harsh sun
Despite this a fire burns within each of them
Singing songs learned from their home
Reminiscing of the times their mother would quietly sing them
Teaching themselves to read under the gentle light of the moon
Learning to write in the quiet shadows of the night
Telling the stories of their homeland to the children
Of hope, of promise, of freedom
To ignite their fire within them
Soon when they are older there will be a rebellion
Brought about by the strength of each other
Of one day leaving this nightmare
Of one day freed of the shackles they bear
A candle burns in the dead of night
The stillness of the air outside
The one moment of peace they don't have to hide
The elders weep for a better life
Silently while the children sleep
Knowing in the morning this a distant memory
Forced to go back to the same routine
Of keeping the tears at bay
And staying strong for those who can't
Their hearts heavy with uncertainty
Their spirits cracking in fear
Malnutrition eats away at their flesh
Dehydration cracks their skin
Their only nutrition the sweat that covers their body
Their disease ridden bodies awaiting the inevitable
The animals hidden awaiting for any signs of rotting
The conditions tough
But the enslaved tougher
Forever earning the respect of those who come after
Copyright ©
Layla Riley-Hill
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