My words are stuck in my mouth
any form of utterance i'm deprived of
as I trickle my ink down the pages
of this bartered scroll
I mould the words from inside
as a sculpturist would
carve his work with pride
sweat on my forhead as I begin to
write my saga
the woes and throes of a black
warrior, a child of the forest and valleys
I embod within me 400 hundred years
of slavery and shattered dreams
Around my neck I bear
a chain of Ignorance, a yoke of inferiority
impeding my progress.
they blinded me by handing me a bible
telling me a Jew was my Lord.
I had no faith in mine own abilities
'cause according them
I was not good enough to be a Lord
a righteous king and saviour
they said love your neighbour
throughout history I see more blood
than brotherhood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very poignant! Where and when do we turn around the past?