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This poetry is meant to be only a reflection of slavery in an artistic and poetic fashion, and  carries no ill-feelings. 


We were divided by their will and might,

Break up our humble little families with great fight,

In a struggle, with tears and prayers of our anguish,

We are separated and stock traded off in big ships.

From Motherland Africa to parts of the world by Babylon’s wicked scheme,

They say because my black, our black, is less than human being.


To them we are strong, ugly and animalistic,

Little did they know, Jah with his divine invention made us mystic?

They say we have no right; no place; no feelings, no heart,

Because we’re black, so we have no lot, no part.

Please tell us, tell me, is my black less than?

Last time that I checked, I was human.


Tell me if when I hurt and cry, isn’t it pain I feel,

Or when I smile, it comes from a heart -a-heal.

Back-ra says it’s like magic, we belong to the land,

And favor the soil, like no one else can.

From birth, we tilled it, bound by their regiment’s call.

Who then rob our very existence; our esteem, our all.




Working us, flogging us into submission, raping and murdering our race,

Doing all in their might;  to get us out of this place.

But tell us, tell me right now! Is my black less than?

In this place, on mother earth, am I not human?


Written by: Ann Marie McKenzie

August 2012
















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