The Black Sea

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This ship is no ordinary ship
no mot, no sail, no oar
it's driven by our screams
of pain, of hunger, for freedom

The sloshing of the seas
is silenced by our shackles
the rats nibble away the flesh
of the deceased, even the alive.

Our ribs protrude,
our cheek bones prevail,
our muscles are extracted,
our lives are taken.

Mothers and fathers
crying oceans of tears
burying their faces into their loved ones,
their lost little ones.

We screech and shriek,
the ship echoes with despair.
But the sea rests in silence,
its gentle ripples washing death ashore.





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