Throwback

This poem was my second attempt at poetry. I wrote it in October of 2017, at age 11.
Although there are a few errors in grammar and punctuation, I think it is worth sharing.

Hope you like it (fingers crossed)…
P.S. Corrections have been made in parentheses.

Background
This poem is satirical, censuring the slave trade which the British very generously carried out in the 18th and 19th century. It is about how the stigma of being a ‘black’ slave in the past haunts a woman. Although she starts afresh, certain terrorising scars always cease to give way to a new life.

Meanwhile, all that she yearns for throughout, is for once in her life, to be happy and liberated.
For any human, is that too much to ask!?

Dear Past
The wind blows slowly,
the cloud bursts loudly.
As if wanting to tell me something.
As soft as the (a) rose once it (it once) laid there,
but now it is all in despair.

This (it) is the call of the wind that is forcing me back,
back into the past – where I don’t want to go;
back there, where there is no hope.
Let the sun stop me,
let the rivers flow slow.
I just don’t want to go.

I know you are crying, the clouds call aloud.
I know you are trying, the oceans shout.
But what they don’t know is my past.
I rose there, I came from there.
I just hope I could say it was a fairyland or that magical stack of hay.
But sadly, none of these apply.
It was nothing but a land of slaves under the British empire.

The ‘blacks’ beaten all around,
I still can hear them shout.
And then the british ladies in pity would call aloud,
“Where do I go dear? It’s blocked all around.”

In this cage of despair, no one can hear me shout.
Oh fairies! Oh angels!
Where are you now?
Wouldn’t you come to help me this time?
I doubt.

They said, ‘There is no looking back.’
Yes, they were right – you are always pushed back.

If there is something like it, hack (crack) the code to happiness.
Even some light in this dark room would do.

Just take me away, away from it all.
Let me live a life with peace all around.

© achillesheelpoetry, 2020