A slave i was born...
To run and run and run till there was no more master's to run
from those days wasted on the plantation, sweating while making
to toil.
Picking the cotton in bar'ed feet set upon the June'd bug soil.
My master had beat me with a leathered whip of nails...
I only had dreams of being a free man, on a far off way'ed boat,
while not looking back, to enjoy the breeze run through my hair.
Only to relax and set off free to an island, i'd well do sail.
Worry spreads from the top of my head-transformed to sweat,
running down to my back.
No more toting bags or bundles of cotton...
Nothing, no more life so rotten.
I am free at last...
Thank God almighty-free to leave this ugly, intolerable past.
SIR MICHAEL...JUST GOT FINISHED READING A VERY GRAPHIC CHRONOLOGY OF THE ABOLITIONISTS& THE CIVIL WAR...QUITE COMPELLING...WHAT THESE SLAVES WENT 5HROUGH WAS UNFATHOMABLE....LINCLN WAS THE RIGHT MAN IN THE RIGHT PLACE... AND YOU SIRMJ ARE DA RIGHT POET W/ DA RIGHT POEM THATGREAT inTENt...'''''''frank
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really like the sentence structures and adjectives you choose. This is interesting and full of emotion.