3. The Time She Spoke of History

When they speaks of history, they will remember her

Not quite in the same way as she would                                because

She would describe how her home was awaken,

She’d say it started to feel like Jericho,

And we were the living historian, even the blinds speak about.

Our lives carved into braille, so even they could sense the height of our pains as their fingers brush over the nothing words that sums up our every breath.

When she speaks of history, she will now know, how history chose her to tell its story.

Stories that sold her security as lessons.

Stories that left lips open before lids were raised to see the death of her mother.

Stories of begging

Stories of pleading

Stories of slavery

Stories that will one day count her as part of a statistic

Stories of how today, they have built enough walls to contain eternity

Stories of her mother

Stories of her becoming a mother

Stories she will one day speak of to her daughter

When she will speak of the day her home was awaken by the loud rumble

How her mother laid beneath the rubbles

How even the blind sights her story everyday

How history chose her

The day will come when they will speak of history

And all will remember her and say,

She was there

Waiting

For her soon but never come freedom.

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