by Kristynn Bryan
Look beyond my black eyes Where tears fall like Stormy days with black skies.
Hear truths from my plump lips From which honey drips Of generations bore mother after mother, past sore hips.
The story of my ancestors never dies Their bodies still lies Underneath the soil, their pain history never denies.
To the north their long trips Not enough water to give her son, just sips Their skin still clothed in the rips, from the whips.
Some on the journey had died, chariots to the heavens they ride While those who survived prayed for a future generation where hope would abide.