My hands are written in braille, piercing secrets unfold as you feel
A face scripted with screams of my silently tormented people
The screams silently fed with sorrow and lightly caressed with the anguish of the unknown
My story tails back for years, because where I’m from at an age as such I would be slaughtered
This screenplay of reality is fed with whispers to their God, uttering supplications and salutations up above
Hoping one day they will leave.
Heads down, knees buckling, their tongues never tiring,
Slashes upon their debilitated skin, I reap in the manifestation that is the war in my mind
Is this where I belong? This is jail town?
My eyes cameras to see bodies lying unjust, bloodshed dripping with solace in hope that maybe death is better than life.
These tears shatter as each tear drop reaches the floor, and escapes into a myriad for pieces like a mirror
who is to justify? My people are dying?
How am I to belong? When my belongings are elsewhere
Fear was never taught to me as a child, I caught a fever of the news
They taught me that this was normality.