THE SLAVE BOY

By prize nwenearizi

Captured with a sack bag from his father’s warmth hut like a dog
From his mother’s protective laps and arms
From his ANCESTRAL soil and home
Taken to far away land to break his bones
Oh slave boy.

The rivers and streams of his land are calling
His wooden bed is calling
His loyal dog he took to hunting is calling
His mother’s pot of soup and pounding stones are calling

Away to a far away land they took him
To work while another man take the gains
To till the soil and stire the dust while another man takes all the proceeds
To work in hunger for their dog’s, horses, prostitutes,and selfish stomachs

When the cruel sun rose to dance a cruel dance,he is there to work
When the foggy sky empties her dirty tears,he is under it to be soaked by it
For his wrongs was being a human with a black skin
He is a slave boy.

The rivers and streams of his lands are calling
The moon that guide him home from the play sand is calling
His mother’s protective arms and laps are calling
His wooden bed he lay at night is calling
The old woman whom tells him stories at moon light is calling.

Oh African slave boy..I hope the moon will lead you home..

Songs of soul
Prize nwenearizi.
HOPE HAS A PLACE