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This diary entry is written by Yehyita. ( View all entries )
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A Cllection of PoemsCategory: poems
Saturday, 28 February 2009
01:39:00 PM (GMT)
Up from the grave,
From whence I came.
Worked through the fields
Like the master's slave.

Never do wrong,
Get beat anyway.
Worked to my bones ached,
Every sngle day.

Had to feed chillen.
Not even mine.
Can you imagine workin' all day?
Then feedin' nine?

Had to do it, too.
So I could be free.
But when you do thangs na,
Do you even think about me?

While you dancin' an shakin',
Doin' bad all day,
I was listening to whaterva masta had to say.

You got it easy,
You already free.
But I betcha one thing.
You never think bout me.

Think of the time I worked so hard,
I was achin' form head to toe.
Then masta wanted me,
To work some moe.

They took my children.
All three.
Off to a slave trade.
But they left me.

My husband been gone.
Long at that.
I lay in bed,
Escape ideas running through my head.

I get there.
Up North.
It ain't much better, you see.
But I know one thing.
I ain't got no master beatin' me.

Up from the grave,
You can hear the cries of the beaten slaves.
Up from the ground,
Listen and here the sound.

They worked for us.
For you and for me.
They did the heart part.
So we could be free.

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