aching soul,
restless,
mind never quite at ease
grief takes its home
in between
Is there still hope for me? From dust, I was brought into the world. And to dust I shall return. Yet I wonder, have I spent these years well? Have I served my lord well?
when this world forgets your name / and looks away from the faces of the many we’ve lost / at the hands of the oppressor / I will hold your hands
Within the roots of this land, I imagine the tales of our grandmothers
sipping on saffron chai and laughing huskily at the jokes they share…
