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!