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Poetry

Pride

Pride. 

I am not a child of pride.

Nothing to see.

 

I am not a child of pride.

Nothing to bleed.

 

I am not a child of pride.

Nothing to know.

 

I am not a child of pride.

Nothing to grow.

 

I place a seed in my hand,

Cocooning my head in the sand.

 

The wind pushes me away.

I fall into the tides.

Chasing the seed in the chaos of its wake.

 

I am not a child of pride.

No motion to follow.

No mountain to climb.

No hill to conquer. 

 

Time.

My mother laid me down-

                                        Taking my hand and tucking me tight.

                                            Uttering words that haunt me every night.

Do not worry child-

There are no monsters under your bed

No monsters that will chew your bones.

Only monsters that won’t accept no.

I am not a child of pride.

 

I am not a child,

You see.

 

I am a message, conceived.

I am a tradition, untold.

I am culture, with no home

 

Bloody hands,

sink into the ocean.

 

Shedding into hydrotropic weavings,

 

Sieving.

Dreaming. 

 

For the seed.

 

That held the togetherness

Of the land,

I wish to breathe.

 

Photography by Darius Iromlou

 

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