“Death is better
than slavery.” - Harriet Ann Jacobs
Poetry Jam this week has invited participants to write a tribute poem to honour someone, famous or not, who is nevertheless admired and is worthy of praise. The poem below was written after I watched a documentary on serf labourers, so common in many rural situations in Europe until the late 19th century. These people were no better than slaves and their life was long struggle for survival under cruel circumstances where the bondsmen had no rights and no avenue to appeal against whatever ill-treatment they received.
Most of us have family trees that are of fairly ordinary wood and which include ancestors who are common people of no other distinction than a will to survive in adverse circumstances. My poem is a tribute to those forebears who have lived and survived and whose issue we are.
With Eyes Closed
With eyes closed firmly, I sit and ponder,
Thinking of you, my distant forebear;
My thoughts unhindered run and wander
Through all the common history we share.
Your name, your fate and date of death
Is all I know; but that for me is ample
To give your picture life and breath,
So that I draw strength from your example.
You had a dream, you lived your life
Battling with dragons, just to survive;
Your children to protect, your wife –
And proof of your success, is that I thrive.
A yellowed photograph, your tattered bible,
The names of my ancestors written there;
A wooden statuette – memories ancient, tribal,
Enough to make me offer thankful prayer…
I have you in my heart, and give respect,
And through the ages we touch souls, connect;
Your blood flows in my veins and I bear fruits
Proud of your struggle, my heritage, my roots.
Poetry Jam this week has invited participants to write a tribute poem to honour someone, famous or not, who is nevertheless admired and is worthy of praise. The poem below was written after I watched a documentary on serf labourers, so common in many rural situations in Europe until the late 19th century. These people were no better than slaves and their life was long struggle for survival under cruel circumstances where the bondsmen had no rights and no avenue to appeal against whatever ill-treatment they received.
Most of us have family trees that are of fairly ordinary wood and which include ancestors who are common people of no other distinction than a will to survive in adverse circumstances. My poem is a tribute to those forebears who have lived and survived and whose issue we are.
With Eyes Closed
With eyes closed firmly, I sit and ponder,
Thinking of you, my distant forebear;
My thoughts unhindered run and wander
Through all the common history we share.
Your name, your fate and date of death
Is all I know; but that for me is ample
To give your picture life and breath,
So that I draw strength from your example.
You had a dream, you lived your life
Battling with dragons, just to survive;
Your children to protect, your wife –
And proof of your success, is that I thrive.
A yellowed photograph, your tattered bible,
The names of my ancestors written there;
A wooden statuette – memories ancient, tribal,
Enough to make me offer thankful prayer…
I have you in my heart, and give respect,
And through the ages we touch souls, connect;
Your blood flows in my veins and I bear fruits
Proud of your struggle, my heritage, my roots.