A FREE RIDE TO SHACKLES AND CHAINS

From the rich lands of Africa 
Where my forefathers roamed free as the wind, 
Living off the land where gold and diamond
We're just a plaything.

Corralled like cattle and stolen from under the shaded trees,
'Chained in the bottom of slave ships and carried across the seas.
To Europe, the Americas, and the Indies,
Leaving behind their heritage of a peaceful and godly place 
'In chains and shackles, as they rowed against the waves.

Many died on the way from their cruel blows
Starvation, tiredness, facing the elements without clothes. 
The inhumane conditions of black people once free
Rowing their master's slave ships to a life of uncertainty.

To the cotton fields of old,
Where the sun beat down bold,
My forefathers, now slaves, worked tirelessly,
Expressing their need for freedom, they give thanks and praise To the Almighty.

Through the lashes of the whip,
They felt pain's cutting grip,
But in their souls, a fire continues to burn,
That yearning for the freedom earned.

They sang songs of hope and grace,
Lifting their spirits in that dark place,
 Their words are woven, like a tapestry,
A masterpiece of resilience and bravery.

So let their legacy live on,
In every heart, in every song,
For their story is one of power and might,
A beacon of hope in the darkest night.

Wilford Barker.