Twelve decades and a piece ago
myself, aged ten, and mamma, just a lass
were bound, in labour, for unknown Demerara.

Like Daniel in the lion’s den, I was thrown
into the belly of Her Majesty SS Alwora
and for half a year in nineteen eighty- one
I was comforted by water, death and wretchedness.

Clutching in fear, terror and nakedness to mamma’s grip
eating rice, dhall and gruel that entire vile trip
in the cramped conditions our kind dwell
dreaming of land tranquil and no more Hell.

Then at last we docked at Vreed-en-Hoop
my feet hit earth, and I felt quite well
but overnight we all cried farewell
as friendship is broken which was found at sea.

In the wee hours when the day is born
crammed in locomotive carriage we roar east
to Plantation and sahib in Berbice.

Our daily toil was hard as Hell
our backs bend all day, makes Quasimodo look well
and mamma laboured all day long
on the land where her descendants now dwell
and have evolved into creations of the divine.

(Happy Birthday, Hercules)