ONE

I close my eyes
and I can hear them singing
and I can hear the beating of the distant African drum
as their bodies sway in the wind to each beat and each hum

I am ONE with their song
and ONE with their beat

Can you hear it?

I can smell the unwanted parts that were leftover
from what the massah did not want to eat

Simmering


 Stewing


  Sizzling

In the pot on the fire
It will be tonight's meal
scraps that others did not desire

Can you smell it?

I can feel the blisters on their feet
from working all day and most of the night
in the big house and in the fields
more often than not without water or meals

I can feel the pain of the oozing blisters
that were inflicted
by the flogging of the whip
as it soars through the air
ripping flesh with each landing

Can you feel it?

I can hear the different languages that they speak
the languages that put them together
so they could not communicate with one another
yet they hunddled together
as though they could understand one another

Separated by different languages
Different tongues
Yet . . . they are one

Can you hear it?


 Can you smell it?


  Can you feel it?

ONE


United


 ONE rhythm


  ONE song


   ONE beat

United together in a foreign land
controlled by the hand of man
yet they learned to eat together
and communicate with one another
via each rhythm . . . each song . . . each beat

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