Herded into small rugged wooden ships bound for an unknown foreign land,
Bodies stocked piled and shackled together with no regard whether child, woman, or man.
Stripped naked and made to lay unprotected on the ship’s ragged floor.
Helplessly watching through the cracks of the ship the fading away of their homeland’s protective shore.
Hoping to survive the treacherous voyage of a long ocean water passage,
Longing to hear the rhythmic sound beat of their tribal drum’s sacred message.
Clinging on to their spiritual faith while laying helplessly in their own feces,
Thousands would die from the insidious scourge of a wicked inhumane disease.
The voices of our African ancestors call out to us from their ancient past,
Pleading that we always remember their legacy
and never ever forget the oppressor’s whipping lash.
The fierce thrashing of their beautiful black skin stripping it literally down to the bone.
Leaving permanent scars that penetrated deep within,
and causing horrid bellowing cries of anguished agonizing moans.
Forced to till a land that did not belong to them for nothing in return,
Untold labor that helped build a nation for which only death is what they earned.
Hands and fingers sorely blistered from the picking of dry cotton thistles,
Dry parched throats from having no water to drink; this thought
alone makes my soul cringe and bristle.
No land, no property, no money, nor any form of a generational inheritance,
How dare you America scoff at my rightful claim to receive equal severance.
Obsess will I remain until my dying breath, for my ancestors gave of theirs too.
The divine power of God’s righteous truth will ensure we receive our just due.
So too will I obsess with claiming for my ancestors what is rightfully theirs,
Because I am their beneficiary and their great, great, great, royal heirs.
So, NO America, I will not stop my demanding obsession for legitimate compensation,
Not until my ancestors and their descendants receive their rightful form of reparations!
In God We Trust
Charles L. Hinsley