I am a Slave

Yvette Mendoza

I am a Slave.
I work hard in the crops.
I hear the cries of people dying,
And the sounds of
Whips in the air,
The bloody tears as they
Run down my people's faces.
No laughter, no play, but
Sorrow all around.

I am a Slave.
I do not wish my children be me,
Working hard in the crops,
Being known as property of the whites,
Those ungrateful people,
But one day we will leave.
I will take my children
Far away and never look back
So they can be independent.
Run free, my children,
I will say
Run free and may the Lord
Be your guide.
I am a Slave.

The Slave

Stephanie Adame

In the South I was not valuable
I had an owner who was very cruel
My poor daughter was taken away from me
I had no way out of this prison
My skin was not a clean skin
My face was covered in dirt but not seen
These hands were not the strongest hands
My chocolate skin was as weak as an old man
I worked for hours and hours
Clean skins would chuckle
As I ran like a dog to do what I was ordered
I grew very tired each day
With little wages to spare
I had no family whatsoever
For the field was the only thing I had left
One day I dreamed of running away
Where I would not be considered a slave
Even though I was not the skin of clean
I would someday have rights and be equal
In the South I was not valuable

I Remember That Horrible Day

Hilda Perez

I can still remember that horrible day that her
children were taken away.
I remember her face full with pain as her
children were taken away.
Remembering the tears running down her face as
she thought about her kids is painful.
Incapable of screaming, all she did was cry

as she saw her children taken away.
Incapable of stopping them, all she did was wave
good-bye.
What can I do, all she thought was
That was my past, my children's present and my
grandchildren's future.