No dungeon was dark enough
Dank enough
To smother the songs of the Slaves
Their shackles kept a metallic beat
From the place the song
Rose from
The dream of freedom
Which hid gestation well
Slaves had no right
But to obey their Masters
Lie with them
Breed daughters
Who would be impregnated
Like their mothers
The men slave in the fields
For a hunk of bread
Two pieces of meat
As a Sunday treat
Blacker nipples on black breasts
Had fed white milk
To white children birthed by
High born ladies
Distant from their bodily functions
Except very occasionally
There is black and there is white
And written with black ink
On white parchment
A promise that all human beings
are equal.
—Lakshmi Bayi
