In the mire, muck and swamps were we born,
Amidst the dregs of our kind,
Rooted in that place,
Chained by time and circumstance,
My kind lived, and progenerated here.
They tried to disposes, disperse us,
Yet we came back up from the stump they forgot.
We gave the seeds of ideas to the wind,
To thoughts, music and dance.
We lived that you may live, we died that you may live.
Taking from the dirt, our bitter dirt,
In the anguish of our souls have we produced,
In abundance by God's grace sweet fruits,
For God made us so, to take from that which you despise,
And create sweet flowers, fragrances of dawn, noon and dusk,
Produce sweet fruit from the effluvium, and gall received.
Provide shade to the wearisome soul, shelter to the frightened,
A nest for the little ones that rest high in our branches.
When we were told we would be rooted,
We shared our fruits of love in love,
Asking nothing but you enjoy them,
And give the seeds from it to one and another.
Plant the seeds of love in gratitude,
And carry in them carry the memory of our sweetness,
Created in the bile and gall of this world.
Unto you we grant!