Chained To The Rythm

A slave has no owner

all proprietors that show at the auction

are his keepers and masters

ripe for the picking, freedom is no choice

the Frank masters in their fedoras have some choice words

as they laugh in jest and hate

exchanging francs

The slave’s half choice is house or field

his imagined freedom is the desired currency of bravery

the fantasy to break free

his physique thrashed and pummeled

his mystique misunderstood

his mind colonized

his cultural disposition is against their societal position

steady storming a brew instead is their cup of tea

wining dining and blinding with meagre coins

subconsciously conforming

a contortion of wills

becoming the armour of the colonizers against their own

dangling curtailed freedom

trinkets left over as the minimum wage for peasants

with veiled ultimatums under disguised platitudes

a worse slave is one that sees the chains on his feet

not as arms against him

but as ornaments to be shown off

chained to the rhythm

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