I think I see her sitting bowed and black,
Stricken and seared with slavery's mortal scars,
Reft of her children, lonely, anguished, yet
Still looking at the stars.
Symbolic mother, we thy myriad sons,
Pounding our stubborn hearts on Freedom's bars,
Clutching our birthright, fight with faces set,
Still visioning the stars!
Those first four lines paint a picture of noble desolation
To me, this poem speaks of hope never given up; pain, never given in to; a race ran with no sense of giving out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Stricken and seared with slavery's mortal scars, Still visioning the stars! Epitome of hope, a great poem. Thanks for sharing it here.