Green white and gold

 

It’s a short life.
Youth teases infinity,
The present reminds us of just how far we’ve come,
And tomorrows diminish so effortlessly.

Our revolution was fair.
Our peace was just.
Centuries of poverty, starvation and genocide,
Were ours to end.

Barred in cells,
Thick stone walls numb voices
That would shatter mountains.
Guns made from gold,
Pierce the faces of children.
And yet here we are – condemned.

The walls thick with grief,
Paint peels as it repels any memory of mercy left at the door.
The landing, filled with light,
A reminder, that the sun’s compassion shines on,
Even in our darkest hour.

Unfamiliar wooden floors,
Lead us to the narrow stone steps.
Our fight isn’t over,
The war is not won.
But my fire cannot destroy the cuffs that shackle me now.