The Chains Of Slaves

The Chains Of Slaves

Beneath the sun’s relentless blaze,

They toiled in fields, through endless days.

Hands worn raw, backs bent low,

In the soil, their tears would flow.

Their voices silenced, dreams unseen,

Chained to a land they couldn’t claim.

Yet in the dark, a spark would rise,

A yearning for freedom, deep in their eyes.

The crack of whips, the sting of pain,

Each wound a story, each scar a name.

But still they sang in quiet grace,

Songs of home, of hope, of a distant place.

They dreamed of skies without the chains,

Of rivers wide, of soft refrains.

Though bound in body, not in soul,

Their spirit yearned for a distant goal.

And in the night, when shackles creaked,

They whispered of freedom, though it seemed weak.

For though the road was dark and long,

In their hearts, they carried the song.

The chains would break, the walls would fall,

And in their strength, they stood tall.

For the slaves of old, whose voices still soar,

Found the courage to rise and be free forever more.

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