What kind of a man would I be
if I left you behind in my distant memories.
Your atrocity cascaded into heartfelt emotions
I've held onto them for a lifetime of devotions.
Memories held captive in the prisons of mind
only entices those dark emotions to intertwine.
Let loose your untold stories into the wilderness
of open dialogues where it may roam in freeness.
Your memories shine in my mind, like rays of light peeking through the gray clouds after a thunderstorm. In those glimmering moments, I see a half-disfigured face that haunts my recollections and taunts my conscience to ask of me, what kind of a man am I? If I were to leave your atrocious stories, buried in the graveyard of my memories, in a shallow grave without a tombstone. For your story is about privileged men who are in the positions of power with the potential for the greater good but choice to do the greater wrong because they live inside a delusional bubble whereby they think, they are solely entitled to this land, to this world, to this life.
YOU ARE READING
Teptidah
Historical FictionBased on a true story of a refugee girl and her brother kidnap by white supremacist...will break it into a few parts...
