The sound of our feets were sweet.
Our songs resonated with our clapping hands.
It conveyed innocence and youth.
Oh! How can I forget.
Her radiant black.
How can I not remember her thick rich hair, brilliantly threaded by fine hands.
For when they came, they aimed at our fathers.
They aimed at our mothers.
They shot and never stopped, until our brothers lay lifeless on our floors.
Like savages, we were dragged above their bodies with paws.
Chained, we cried, we screamed, beaten and stacked, filthy and snatched.
Her grace is long gone.
Sores kiss her face with reckless abandon.
Now, she's just a shadow of the old one.
We are the forgotten ones.
By Jaymie Eze
#FORGOTTEN #ONES
#FREEDOM
#POEM
#MyCollectionOfShortStories
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