Passed out on the cold empty field
His hair matted and buried in the sand
Breathing shortening
He closed his eyes
Body aching
And in the mist and shadow of his sleep
He dreamt about his land
Where the Niger flowed so deep
He dreamt about the strolls under the starry nights
The nights he loved, where he flew his kites
He dreamt about his son
The sweet kisses he gave him all gone
He dreamt about his wife
The one person he told was his life
He dreamt about how he held
His parents' hand
A tear escaped from his eye
And fell into the sand
He dreamt about the forests
With their myriad tongues
Shouting of liberty
And the voice of animals
All so wild and free
It all made him smile
Forgetting about the hay he had to carry
A whole pile
He forgot about his masters' whips
Or how his skin everyday rips
He forgot about the torturous days
Or the hot, scorching, burning Mays
He forgot about all the blood, so red
That emitted from his body and feel onto his bed
And once again he could feel cold air
Hitting him, blowing his hair
He could feel it take him away
Far far away, and once again he felt gay
For freedom, here he was coming
He felt himself looming
And with a smile
He was gone
To freedom, once again
He was free
Once again
Now he did not feel his masters' whip
Or the scorching heat of day
For death had illuminated him
His lifeless body lay
Worn out chains that his soul
Had broken and thrown away
-h.c
I wrote this poem while reading an article on slavery, how there are a number of places in the world where slavery is still legal. It's just plain horrid. Everyone deserves freedom.
YOU ARE READING
Notebooks and Needles
PoetrySome people tend to find solace in writing out their feelings. I'm one of those people. A collection of poems I wrote. Even if you think they're immature, please no hate. Peace. -h.c x
