Kings and Chains
I would say that I have seen three types of creatures and that these can be separated into two categories. First, there are the laborers. Second, there are the profiteers.
I am one of two within the first group. With me are the humans of black pigmentation. Funny word.
I must correct myself. Those people from the African continent are both friend and foe. Perhaps they have yet to recognize our similarities.
Everyone knows the last division of life.
The foreign xenophobes.
The persecuted persecutors.
The revolutionary lords.
Well, you know...
So, they've asked me to tell you about life here. That's
very hard to some degree.
Mostly death is all we know.
You see, when the sun spins our way, the Africans are awaken by a dirty white
command. In the shadow of forced sexuality and an ever present whip, they
step onto their brother's land; yet they own nothing.
The sun rises and wanes and they forge forward.
Now and again an African forces an African.
No one has choice when cotton reigns.
The kings reside gently on the porch.
Rocking back and forth they chat about profit and progress.
In the maze of land that was meant to be maize, the Africans sing softly.
Their struggle is to pretend that there is a way out.
Like I said, we believe in death around here.
At the root of it all, there are no kings and there are no chains.
When the sun sleeps, the moon rises and the Africans forge
forward.
Through the night the task of submission continues.
Always one side is on the bottom.
Her song is a desperate cry; she sings with me.
We are fed blood and garbage out of a trough.
One in the same, we whisper our lullaby to ourselves.
Sleep is death's child; we nurture her.
The water cleanses us of our shackles, and yet it flows south to New Orleans.
It speaks to us of the white future, stained by greed.
This we know until we know no more.
We fade into the sunset and our songs echo amidst the soil.
At the root we know; there are no kings or chains.
Then there are those who say that only the sky is free.
Perhaps they are worth believing.
Most no one around here is.
This we know and we forge forward.
- Taylor Sparrow