Our Own where
Our story,
Our history...
Where are you from?
They asked?
As they turned to look at me!
And
There was silence!
It was not a silence of the dead,
Or one of the damned,
But one of suspence...
A suspended sentence to silence of the coloured...
A suspense that evoked
Admixtures of joy and sadness
Joy because I am to be heard...
After years and years of being
Seen but not heard,
And talking and not been heard!
I am being asked to speak...
Yet I am
Asking myself deep inside me...
Are they asking for my address,
My residence or my origin?
The answer to the simple question is already a mouthful...
Do I have a voice?
Do I nave what to speak?
Do I have what it takes to speak?
I have a voice!
I have what needs to be said!
I heard!
And sadly...
I have spoken many a time
Or so I thought,
When I did,
And was applauded...
My voice has ticked so many boxes
I have served as statistics.
For organisational compliance.
I know that
I exist in everyone of their papers
Used for fund raising.
And they know that
The funds they raised in my name
Never get to me, my children or children's children.
Do I ask them to
Take me out of papers.
I am human and not statistical data.
Listen to me with an open mind
You and I can make a difference...
Working together
With our known differences...
Embracing our differences,
Can make a difference.
Let us differentiate our selves
From the Creepy Creeps Collaborations in Archives...
Recalled
Are centuries,
decades and years
Call them dark ages
As eras of deprivation,
They were
Awash with stories of
Abuse
But those of survival and joy
Drowned them all!
Who appeased the violated majority?
Who delivered the pregnant victims of their forgiveness?
The love child
Earned from recognition and repentance.
I am from a past
Where a belief in humanity
Was embraced and
Sustained. ..✨
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®©Knt™💧 💧
