The torments on me, I can't defy.
They took me away from my shore
whose golden sands I'd see no more.
The power that my hand wields,
the whites use on the cotton fields.
From the shiny white cotton balls,
tears of the dark skin falls.
None felt, no one ever batted an eye -
in Atlantic drowned the Negros' sigh.
All of humanity to me seemed dead
when they allowed the slave trade.
Whips made their thin red mark,
so in our minds fear thrive and lurk.
It is absurd to forget those tales,
where lust ravaged young females.
Prasenjit©2022
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