Poetry

Bitter


You hear my laugh and wonder at the cold
You see my smile and question darkness' fall
But I was born from broken womb
And Mara is my mother.



Haunted

I walk with spirits
From past festooned with violence,
With strangled screams and tears.
I Am Never Alone



Activist Born


They March.
I watch
 And something stirs long buried.
Though years have distanced memories of oppression,
And conformity dulled my senses.
My blood remembers! 
My soul Awakens!