The Slave Poem by Phrank Adie
The Slave
I was bought with money.
I am the property of my master.
He determines the course of my life.
He subjects me to mindless drudgery.
I am always the last to go to bed,
And the first to wake up every day.
I dare not complain or question his orders,
For fear of the whip of disobedience.
Whenever I ask why it is so,
I am being told that I am a slave.
I do the cooking in my master's house,
Yet I must live on the leftovers.
I wash and iron expensive clothes,
But have only rags to cover my back.
I weed and tend my master's garden,
But I dare not taste the fruits therefrom.
Whenever I ask why it is so,
I am being told that I am a slave.
My master's children treat me with contempt.
They order me at will to serve them food,
And command me to bathe their pets amid ongoing chores.
If I dare delay due to the chores at hand,
They run to their mother to report my disobedience.
She never listens to what I have to say,
Before nearly twisting my ear off.
Whenever I ask why it is so,
I am being told that I am a slave.
Why am I called a slave, and what is my crime?
I am not a slave; I am only being enslaved.
I wasn't born in chains; why am I being chained?
I want to be free, and I must be free.
My master will never give me freedom; I must take it.
The price of freedom can be very expensive.
I am willing to pay, even with my life.
A poignant write! It’s hard to express my feelings…“I do the cooking in my master's house/yet I must live on the leftovers /I wash and iron cute and expensive cloths/But have only rags to cover my back”. You have captured a heart provoking theme! I wholeheartedly agree with comments of Chinedu and other esteemed poets!
Surprisingly I never go back to read comments about my poems. Chinedu, Dr, Tony, Edward and Favour. Accept my unreserved appreciation to your comments. God Bless.
You've just captured the deplorable condition of lives in which 'house-helps' endure on daily basis. I call it modern day slavery. Beautiful piece of poetry elegantly brought forth in good diction with conviction. An insightful poem indeed. Thanks for sharing.
Why am I called a slave, and what is my crime? I am not a slave, I am only being enslaved I wasn't born in chains, why am I being chained? ...... when i read the history of the salve trade in america, such imaginations come in my mind and when i see some films which depict such kind of inhuman and evil treatments........ i have such imaginations in my mind...... the whites destroyed the blacks. it is simply history........ and when Obama became president i was all the more happy....... God is alive........ thank you my dear poet for this revealing poem
I do the cooking! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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7/22/2026 6:01:02 AM # 1.0.0
Beautiful piece Frank, I love it