I presented this short poem early this year in a discord hangout organized by 
She was our last hold,
She was the very pride of all
Our antiquities;
Scavengers! Traitors! Wanton fools!
They came in with lockets and chains,
Took us across the sea
And left our black land burning
While allowing the smell of its ashes
Become a memory in our noses!
Traitors! Scavengers!
Our backs saw hell on Europe's Plantation
I can't really tell what inspired this, but it was like bringing back a piece of the past just before our Independence. I can only imagine what it felt like to be a slave and to watch yout life deteriorate slowly with pains.
The emotion of the poem suggests anger. If you have ever been locked up. in a room before, or probably got stucked in an elevator or something. Then you would know that freedom is golden. The ability to move freely without being told what to do is awesome and no sane person would wana trade that for a piece of cake.
