Strains,
Chains,
Or Paradise plains?
Names..
Gone with the blowing dust,
Forgotten as ages rust.
The lust
Of 'staches with cigars;
Masters of souls and scars,
Games, balls and bars.
A dark farce.
Ageless hands, but visages old
Of souls
Bought and sold;
Infants bold,
Stories retold
In dying grains of sand,
And tears of a lonely land.
In coffins of breathless flesh,
And the empty grip of a hungry hand.
Chains,
Or Paradise plains?
Names..
Gone with the blowing dust,
Forgotten as ages rust.
The lust
Of 'staches with cigars;
Masters of souls and scars,
Games, balls and bars.
A dark farce.
Ageless hands, but visages old
Of souls
Bought and sold;
Infants bold,
Stories retold
In dying grains of sand,
And tears of a lonely land.
In coffins of breathless flesh,
And the empty grip of a hungry hand.
This poem revolves around the suffering of Africa throughout ages; slavery, racism, hunger and much more.It's about that feeling of being torn between the beauty of Africa and the fact that this beauty is smothered in mists of oppression, religious and ethnically-based racism, and suffering in all its faces.It's about those people, those "Names" who wither away every day without even being cared for, just like those specs of dust that are blown away-and even those can be seen in shades of light!It's about the way the white man sees himself as superior to other races, and the way he enslaved Africans for his own purpose and services, then sold them to others in an inhumane way.It's about all those children, very young in age, yet their visages hold the lines of an aged man because of what they have to go through.And the fact that they die every day from hunger, abuse, disease, slavery, thirst..And no one is there to pick them off the ground, feed them, clothe them and bring them back to life when vultures hover around their dying souls!
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