Black child

We could still feel the pain of the scars inflicted on our beauteous land. We could still feel the weights of the chains that bound us during the days of slavery. We could still smell the blood of our forefathers that was used to desecrate the sanctity of our soil during the fight for freedom. We could still hear the unwavering whispers of the warriors that held the agenda in high esteem, with the unfearful screams of Amandla!!!!
I could still hear the blazing of the blaring gun that pierced my father's heart and saw to it that he laid lifeless on the soils of Africa. I could still hear the agonizing cries of my helpless mother who's worth was that of a dog in the house of her master. How can I forget the years I spent behind bars, raising my voice was my  greatest crime.
Physically free but mentally bound thus I don't blame the pestering feeling of inferiority when I see a complexion different from mine. The once quiet lands of our forefathers have raised their voices once again, nothing has changed it just that now black oppresses black. Take me a little aback when I was side by side with my brothers in one accord. let the voice of a long quiet black child be heard once again.