Out of the dead expanses of a scorched earth,
Do we see a virgin birth
Conceived in neither sound, smell, or the taste of freedom;
How do we choose to unshackle ourselves?
Millons of lives sold as the Live-Stock of another from the womb
Right to the trembling muscled days of hard labour in an unforgiving sun,
Did we accept even ourselves tacitly as the property of another?
No, for people swore to themselves that there was something better,
In those brief interludes that the captors did not see
As sowing the seeds of liberty,
In those fleeting glimpses of the glory of this world, grow the potentialities of the human spirit,
And bid the feet to run, through that free grass, through that racing stream, through the cloud-jeweled blue days of grace, into the arms of our own futures,
And our own rules.
To break our backs on our own terms.
And to savour the sweet corn that spills from our own horns of plenty.
I do not understand the horrors of slavery,
I am on the other side, where I feel the warmth of what life can be,
Of what infinite joys the universe can offer, if only we open our arms wide
To contain its embrace.

But is history in the past, or are we still finding ways of accepting our bonds?
Is the yearning for anarchy reduced to a movement of college kids with red tags smeared on forgotten walls?
Or is there a desire for more: have we compromised for the promises of society
To the point of being willing slaves?
Everyday we’re driven by the gales of prejudices, gossamer-subtle, a mere whisper in the corner of your room, a quiet little flap of its scaly wings in the darkness of our hours,
I found this insect of misfortune in my own home,
And had to shovel centuries of filth off my own perceptions of the world.
The task is far from over, but I am trying to free myself.
Slowly, with measured, sometimes tortured steps,
To extricate myself from the expectations of a non-sentient yet often aggressive world of opinions and ideas.