Listening to the silent resistance -
the heartbeat of our
forgotten ancestors.
I am wrapped in pink silk,
my bare feet in lush grass,
toes gripping - holding
me to the earth,
roots sink as my spine -
rigid - connects to the
voices of the past.
My anger is metallic -
Sharp and cold -
with razor sharp edges
I leak, my tears
drop - turning into shards
of glass as I finally surface.
The depths were cold
yet I feel energised as
my voice joins with
the chorus of echoes.
History repeats itself
fueled by our pain -
but the sun beats on
our faces and we rise.
Reaching for the light.





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