The chains clicked as they dragged his starved body, I watch from the corner awaiting my turn,  I hear a gun shot but no scream, is this how I’ll sound too, I wonder.

The white man comes back and kicks Maa, and I curse at him, He gives me a new scar. It’s number 138 and counting.

I take some mud and smear it over the wound, It pains a lot, to see Maa on the ground.

I look at the stars above and guess the direction, To tell my brother I traveled the farthest among the selection.

Still remember how my brother was killed last year on the port, When he stretched his hand for a mouthful of pork.

I adjust the shackles and feel the blisters hard, I gawk at how my skin color made it a birthmark.

I look around and see no one else but me and Maa, I wish she was dead long before she had to undergo this desecrate.

My eyelids refuse to stay open, covered in blood, Now it’s just water which is red.

I’ll sleep with peace in my heart tonight, No struggle, no pain, no tears, just a petty smirk.

I’m woken up with a jerk as the head hits a staircase as I’m pulled, I realize it’s my turn to cry in front of the hellion.

The white man puts his gun where my heart used to lie, I drag it back to the bisection of the eye.

He waits a moment to swell with pride, I looked in his eyes, with no grief, no dread as he pulled the trigger; and I smiled.
Slaved at birth, freed at death.