Song Of The Last Slave I sing of Dahomeys dungeons Free of wails and torsos sombre Of bony slaves,who-for gold and silver are sold Chained hands and legs like vicious beasts And shooed away,like plaque infested earthlings Who,godly peace they never knew but only wrath know By those who,of goodness sing and of god write Those who became gods,through sword and whip I sing of Dahomeys air Free of acrid smell Of unwashed mothers and sons sweat And that of a lynched father,whose daring escape failed Whose sores covered body is... Left oozing with blood and mould Which now blankets the once pure air I sing,in unison with silenced voices of old Voices silenced eons past,for the truth they spewed Of Dahomeys colloseums free... Of pounding hoofs and cluttering armour Of the wailling horns and screaming crowds Of dripping sweat and oozing blood Of blinding dust and gleaming sword And dying poppies under pilling corpses Corpses of once gallant men and caring dames I sing of the dream of those dead Of Dahomeys drumming rains Of little feets writting lost tales Of laughter.song and black smoke heating pots Of silent nights and slumber fair Under the watching stars,of Dahomey once great I sing of Dahomey of old,lost Sold for a penny and a dime That bought strife,toil and gloom. #Poem by Sifiso Mtshali #Word
Posted on: Sun, 12 Oct 2014 15:00:00 +0000
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