Jack was born under the shadow of the sun,  

Where freedom was a whisper, a dream undone.  

The soil of his homeland, rich and red,  

Was stained by the tears of the enslaved and the dead.  

Chains clanked like thunder; his wrists bore their bite,  

Dragged from his village under the cloak of night.  

He remembered his mother’s wails, her hands reaching wide,  

But the slavers tore him from her—her tears couldn’t hide.  

The ship was a coffin that sailed on despair,  

Bodies pressed together, gasping for air.  

The ocean mocked their cries with its endless song,  

And Jack’s spirit wavered, though his body stayed strong.  

The fields became his prison, the whip cracked its tune,  

Sweat poured like rivers under the blazing noon.  

He toiled in silence, his dreams turned to dust,  

His heart broken by cruelty, his soul caked in rust.  

But Jack held a spark deep within his chest,  

A flicker of hope he could never suppress.  

In the dead of the night, he whispered his pain,  

Dreaming of freedom, though bound by the chain.  

Years passed, the tides of history began to shift,  

The chains fell away, the air smelled of a gift.  

Freedom. A word Jack barely understood,  

For the scars on his back still marked where he stood.  

He wandered the world, a man without a name,  

Searching for meaning, shedding the shame.  

The pain was a shadow that clung to his side,  

A constant reminder of what was denied.  

One day, he stood by the ocean’s roar,  

The same cruel waves that had stolen his shore.  

But now they sang gently, a melody sweet,  

And Jack found the strength to rise to his feet.  

He built a small home, carved out of stone,  

A place for the lost, the bruised, the alone.  

Children gathered, wide-eyed and free,  

Jack taught them of dignity, of humanity.  

He spoke of the chains but not out of spite,  

He spoke of the darkness to honor the light.  

“Life is a storm,” he would gently explain,  

“But even the fiercest winds give way to the rain.”  

Jack’s name became a hymn, whispered and sung,  

A tale of resilience for the old and the young.  

Though his scars ran deep, his spirit soared high,  

A testament to freedom beneath the wide sky.  

And so Jack lived, his story untold,  

But in every life he touched, his legacy rolled.  

From chains and ashes, he rose to proclaim:  

“No man should suffer in another’s name.”  

And the many like him who experienced the bitter taste of slave trade 

With severe wounds and burns while in chains and shackles leave to heal with first aid

It is only a privilege that you have this freedom you spend 

Without leaving values and appreciation for the end of that cruel trend.