Your fathers toiled in fields of grain
under the watchful eye of the sun
and loan shark lords who held you captive
with high interest and low wages
year after year
But now you’ve traded in your plow
for diamond cutters in the city
a hope of a better life drives you
though you live in crowded squalor
and your rights are hardly guaranteed
Money in your hands yet
Freedom still out of reach
Yet, as Caedmon's Call sings:
"There's a land where our shackles turn to diamonds
Where we trade in our rags for a royal crown
In that place, our oppressors hold no power
And the doors of the King are thrown wide"
2 comments:
Pamela,
Beautiful poem. I witnessed this phenomenon in person on a trip to India in 2004. The song you reference is also very moving. The cd it is from is one of the few CCM cd's I listen to.
Cliff
I love that whole CD--especially the songs about India, and the one Danielle sings that begins, "I did not catch her name/I did not catch her tears"
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