Noire est l'histoire

Arrachés de notre propre terre,

Obligés de traverser le désert,

Pieds nus, enchaînés par des ficelles de fer.

Arrivés dans les ruelles citadines raffinées,

Réduits à être des esclaves marchandés,

Contraints de rejoindre un bataillon oppressé,

Dépourvus de toute nuance de dignité,

Démembrés, dénués d’héritiers.

Au sein de ce martyre,

On a vu les nôtres périr,

D’autres succomber au désir,

Mais le chant des ficelles nous faisait vivre.

Séquestrés, emprisonnés comme des proies,

Torturés par une société qui prétendait avoir foi,

Car seule notre couleur leur donnait ce droit,

Qui n’était inscrit dans aucune loi.

Espérant que nos descendants n’oublieront pas notre combat,

Qu’ils suivront le rythme de la musique gnawa,

Celle qui transporte la vulnérabilité de notre état.

Texte : Mohamed Rayane Sekhra

Illustration: Amine Lakrim

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