I am from a dreamland. My great land was diverse yet so grand as the food and words were never bland. The hands were rich with bands and rands, built from working the same ground upon which we stand. I am from a home that once spanned prosperity itself; such a lovely thing was a gift to our health. The sands, skies, and seas could even hold the Heavens. The trees used to dance in the breeze with ease. I am from a dwelling of past envy, but not of a hating feeling, in the purest form, this was just only beauty. But I am from broken societies.
Our hearts were bled dry as we were taken overseas. We prayed, begged, cried why ever so loudly, but it was in vain. I am from a place where our veins still course with a saddened passion, as a lack of love is our new fashion.
With sorrow, I am still from a life of death, as their malice has never left. Yet they still set us so carelessly upon the trees; despite our screams and pleas, we become the strangest fruits you have ever seen. We have no identity and we have no names. yet they still set us so harshly upon the pyre; the painful extermination of desire is a freedomless and killing fire. Even our look for love is seen as theft, and sadly, I am from where they even have my last breath.