I wandered around the garden last night;
I did things, a few out of sight.
Don’t ever let your light burn so bright.
I watered plants, sprinkled roses round the floor;
I gave homage to the moss on the rocks;
I danced with the moon on the terrace floor.
I was supposed to be guarding the entrance;
But the lights were low and I knew no one to be there;
So I danced around in midnight air, carrying no cares.
Wonders enfolded me as I felt freedom, a long time-
It had been that I had an hour and the hour was mine;
I was no servant by choice but this choice had been mine.
I was brought up here from a native land;
I was told that I was ugly and washed my hands-
I was stranded in something amiss, but nonetheless, branded.
As I watered the flowers, visions of their tall leaves hovered;
Right above my vision I could see the leaves dancing, summer;
That’s when the scream came and I rushed toward door, then cupboard.
I did not hate being enslaved, for hate is a strong word;
I cared about the children and mother and warden;
So when I saw the murderous scene by the cupboard I was burdened.
I am the scapegoat, for there must be someone to blame;
I had left the entrance and danced in the summer heat and rain;
No alibi could save a slave from taking on the the rope that hanged;
I was the scapegoat, who quenched white pain.