In the deepest waters of the ocean floor,
I hear a sound of history one can’t ignore.
A rattle pressed in silence, iron turned to hymn,
Echoes of the taken, though the light grew dim.
Beneath the waves lie names the world forgot,
Bodies turned to current, stories left to rot.
Still, they speak in tides, kissing the shore,
In tongues that lived, though stolen from before.
From rice fields far to lands they did not choose,
They carried more than chains they could not lose.
And though the sea tried swallowing their cry,
It could not drown a people meant to rise.
So I ask the depths that held what pain could bring,
O chain, where is thy power?
Where is thy sting?