Locked up in your deep dark prison,putrid smells of death and decay.Lined up like merchandise,at a market place ,a bill of sale ,”But ,I am innocent”. forced to be treated less than a human.forced to take up a new name, a new identity. spit upon,beaten,the force of the lash making inroads in our backs.  The blood of our hands mixed with the sweat of our face.

We toil to build Massa’s place .sun up to sun down,we toil,we sweat.The worms of our hunger gnawing at our inner flesh. Our still suckling babes ripped from us the add to Massa’s workforce.  Or women are treated as breading houses  from which Massa feels his has the right to use ,take ,manipulate . to make me feel less of a human.To him i am just property ,a purchase. To  be treated as cattle, a bill of sale.

To be beaten and told what to do ,what to think ,what to believe,what to dream,what to hope for.

That is a life of a slave.

Advertisements