by Kristynn Bryan
Look beyond my black eyes
Where tears fall like
Stormy days with black skies.
Hear truths from my plump lips
From which honey drips
Of generations bore mother after mother, past sore hips.
The story of my ancestors never dies
Their bodies still lies
Underneath the soil, their pain history never denies.
To the north their long trips
Not enough water to give her son, just sips
Their skin still clothed in the rips, from the whips.
Some on the journey had died, chariots to the heavens they ride
While those who survived prayed for a future generation where hope would abide.