Underneath the scorching heat,
Arching soul, broken down moral:
I mused and fumed,
As the market,
For that day seemed,
To come to an end!
I heard haggling behind me,
For a damsel,
I have eyed throughout the long dread,
Yet none asked after me.
With bicep so strong,
That I could pull down a tree,
None asked for me,
And the market is closing!
Going back to camp is nauseating,
Full of trepidation and insult!
We have come a long way,
That going back is no longer possible.
The journey was tough;
At least we made it.
For more of us were cast down,
Like wares into the agonizing sea!
As I laid there crying out my soul,
There was it, a voice talking to me,
And bringing back my senses;
"Who told you, that you a slave? "
I replied, "Am I not a slave? "
"No, no, you are not a slave!
This is a brand new world;
That you should begin right away! "
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem