Alabama Poem

“Nooo, please do not take ha’, Hope is all I have left.” Mama screamed as the soldiers ripped me out of her arms. I clinged on to her with dear life, still not enough. That was two years ago, I have not seen her since. I remember this as if it just happened yesterday. There is no medicine to cure hatred. Piping hot, the sun beats down ninety degrees weather daily, in Alabama, 1863. As the ink counties to drench the paper, it begins to smear away due to the scorching temperature. I am surprised my sweat glances have not burst by now. The air that rarely passes by only sticks to skin, feels like honey. No moisture in the air, my personal Hell. I’m burning here, someone please save me!

Before being abducted coming to Alabama, I lived

My sista heard a knock. Out of curiosity, she when to see who was at the door. She screamed louder than a hadeda; our national bird .We all rushed to the door faster than hungry lions. At the door stood three white soldiers with the supremacy flag. At that point we knew, it was time for us to go. Soldiers came into African filled vicinities in order to enslave us Africans. Mama prayed years and years for the safety of her children. We moved from time to time to avoid abduction. Mama begged and poured out her heart to the aggressive men.The malicious soldiers had their eyes on Abigal, they took her. She was the first to leave us. We continued sobbing, but nothing seemed to phase the vengeful men. Lutha, being protective as always, tried to ripped Abigail out of the meaty arms of the even foot soldiers. Suddenly a pow sound went off. Lutha had been shot in the back for resisting

Lutha survived because of God’s mercy and abundant grace. Abigail is doing better. They’re still extremely traumatized. We love you. Come home soon. They miss their big sista, I miss my daughta. Remember to stay humble, God is always with and watching over you. We love you and are so very proud of you, Hope.” That was 2 years ago, I still have the note. We haven 't spoken since. My only hope is that my family is doing well and safe as can be.

Slave, a person who is the legal property of another and is forced to obey them, one I am. I’ve endured cuts, bruises, daily beatings, and crucial whippings. Everyday I look at myself ashamed. Life here became intensely arduous. The other slaves and I work in hazardous conditions. We sleep on below freezing concrete floors, with scarcely any clothing to cover with. Dinner is served once every two days; half slice of bread and a couple beans. We are expected to find our own drinking water. I pick cotton for seventeen hours a day. They, the whites do not care about our well beings. They only need us alive in order to make a profit. We are simply property.
One day, I hope to break loose of these chains. Break free of the bondage, which deprived me of humanity. One day, I hope to finally feel whole again. I am broken beyond repair. I am screaming but no one can hear me. Crying is the only way my eyes speak, when my mouth can no longer explain how broken my heart