They threw the stones.
Rocks of Tradition, flung in careless ritual.
They flew through the sky
intent on their target,
unforgiving.
Now I kneel in the sand,
no longer a cradling comfort,
but a harsh, abrasive platform.
It leaves a distinct impression on your
brutally interrupted flesh–
burning and burrowing, one grain at a time.
I could not cry as I watched
your body crumble
piece by piece,
melting to the ground.
The scorching rays of the sun
pierced my back,
Yet I remain frozen
in place– in tongue.
With half a movement I would have burst
open forever, unable to return.
So I remained
Silent.
Numb.
My muted voice
will be interpreted as obedience;
submission.
But I have no respect for Them.
There is no honor in this day.
Advertisement
