Paul's daughter Irene Melina Hickman reads his poem:
When does it end with my death.
The minutes-hours-days weeks-months-years.
We the enslaved toiled without mercy for those who control
Our daily movements.
The shear physical and mental pain must be endured for the
Ancestors wrestle with this too. Mental - the teachings us
The anguish yet to come endlessly.
Days In and Days Out
Into the fields of nothing for us. As we watched over each other
With care and love. Keeping that unseen love intertwined
With bitterness and hatred. Both learned from the ones free
To do to us without regret.
Days In and Days Out
There was no end insight for us. Some ran only to
Be returned with bruises and scars. Some whimpered like
Young puppies while others stood tall and erect. None
Could wonder back and forth without interrogations.
Days In and Days Out
While we were still chained and loaded in cages like untamed lions.
Glaring our eyes towards the en-slaver who called out our action
On their parts. The power of the eyes looking deep into the souls
Of the en-slavers Raising their fear beyond their belief. As they
Withheld the freeing us from bondage when the news passed days ago.
Days In and /Days Out
The whispers of good news for us. The cuffs and iron around
The neck and ankles were to be taken away.
To break freely. Some danced a jig and ran around happily.
For me it was the harness wrapped around me inhibiting my
movements. Controlled anger caught me giving me
the release of my soul before death would claimed me.
Days In and Days Out
JUNETEENTH -NEVER AGAIN!
(c)2021 Paul S Hickman All Rights Reserved
Paul S. Hickman from Greece - Read Paul's Bio
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