When we escaped the plantations of Florida
And ran among the trees
Toward swampy ground
To trudge through mud and memories
Of bondage and of blood,
We found your arms slung open wide,
As gates to refuge from a weary fugitive parade.
But there are those who would have us not remember this.
You and we did not only hide
And live in friendship
Side by side,
We, both, being people of the drum,
Did not our hearts thump out a battle song
To drive our feet
To march against the pale faced ones
Whose bellies could not be filled,
Who had stolen us from our Motherland,
And too, was stealing yours from you?
There are those who would have us not remember this.
With your Comanche warriors in Texas,
We fought them.
With your Seminole warriors in Florida,
We fought them.
With the Tuscarora warriors in South Carolina,
We fought them.
Scan other places
Where we did not together fight them.
But there are those who would have us not remember this.
There are those who would have stuffed our recollections full
With the treacheries of those of ours
Who betrayed our common cause;
The Greek slave owners
And mercenaries among the Choctaws,
Buffalo Soldiers who, though free from chains,
By stroke of being, was still enslaved
To head and soul,
And others who could not distinguish enemies from friends.
There are those who would have us remember these as heroes,
But the vistas of yesterday are wide,
And we do not stand awake
With one eye closed.
These commentaries are recorded by Noel Hanrahan of Prison Radio.
