Bondage Freedom, Memories From Bridge City Poem by Quame Boatmann

It is here
The day we all anticipate
The day that marks the end of the first beginning
That we’ve been waiting for ages, it seems
That we will rest from our unpaid hard labor
And be free from our wicked masters
Treating us like netted menial mutineers
After enticing us with sweet words
When we were treated like kings and queens
Only for the passing possible period

We had nothing called sleep
And knew no leisure
The elephants have gradually been famished into dogs
And the lions have been demoted into meek kittens
And our bones forcing out of our shrunken flesh

And when the day has come, we stand
With our luggage too heavy to carry
As we wait for the colossal chariots
Sent to us by our wicked masters
On conditions of our cowries,
Amused by our perverse haste
For the passing period of freedom
For they knew if we leave
We’ll still come back to serve them