Echoes of the Silent Trade I Poem By Arika, 12, Faridabad
Arika writes a poem about the slave trade, showing that despite the pain, an unbreakable spirit of resilience and hope rises, and the once-silenced will reclaim their freedom.
Echoes of the Silent Trade
In the heat of the day, the market cries,
As tears fall from teary eyes.
Hands bound, but hearts were bound even more,
Sold like cattle to the heartless being.
Whips crack sharp, the air turns cold,
Lives are sold, both young and old.
A mother’s heart torn apart,
As the chains break what she knew.
Bidders stand with eyes like stone,
Counting lives, which to buy, which do not.
Each price is set, each soul weighed,
In the shadows of the cruel parade.
The auctioneer calls, “What about number eight?”
The bidders say, “No, she’s small,” “No, worth,”
they say.
With hearts broken, filled with fear,
A child is sold; a man is bought.
Each one marked with a tag,
A price too high for a soul to bear.
Yet in the dark, beneath the pain,
A whisper grows a quiet strain.
For though they fall, and though they weep,
A strength remains, and it runs deep in the veins.
A spark, though small, refuses to die,
A flicker in the dark, a defiant cry.
In the silence that is loud,
A storm brews in the hearts of the bound.
A resilience unseen but forever there,
A spirit too fierce for the world’s cruel glare.
And though their bodies break, their will stands tall,
For they know deep inside—they shall not fall.
And as the chains clink and echo through the night,
They hold onto something that no one can fight.
Not the auctioneer, nor the buyers’ gaze,
Not the whips nor the cruellest of days.
For though they part,
They know they never did,
A bond forged in suffering, a love deeply hid.
And in the dark, beneath the stars,
Where pain lingers, and hope seems far,
A new dawn rises from broken skin—
A promise that freedom will always begin.
Though they are scattered, though they are torn,
The soul of rebellion is quietly born.
They will rise. And the world will know,
That no chains, no price, can silence that glow.
For in each tear, in each silent cry,
A strength, unbroken, will never die.
Though they part, they are never gone,
A force unyielding, forever drawn.
But some listen, who see the light,
Who rise in the shadows and stand in the fight.
Their voices join the song, their hearts beat with theirs,
A unity of souls who can no longer bear
To watch the pain, to witness the cost,
For in the silence of the trade, much has been lost.
But they will not forget, not for a second,
For the echoes of those who fell are their own,
And from those echoes, they shall never be alone.
The world may turn its head, may look away,
But their spirits are here, refusing to decay.
For the strength of the fallen is the fuel of the free,
And the chains that once bound them now hold only a key.
A key to the future, a key to the dawn,
A key that unlocks what the past had withdrawn.
Through every scar, through every fight,
The people who suffer will never lose sight.
They will rise, and they will take their place,
For in the heart of the broken, there’s no trace of disgrace.
In the ashes of the auction, a fire burns bright,
An inferno of justice, a beacon of light.
And as the echoes fade, the world will hear,
The voice of the oppressed, ringing clear:
That no matter the cost, no matter the pain,
There will come a time when they break the chain.
For every soul that was sold, every life that was bought,
A reckoning is coming for all that was lost.
***
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