Mother, I fear for the life you have given me;
Anguished by the voice you have once taught me to speak the truth with,
Reckoned that my fate, like the gunshots on TV you told me not to hear,
Imbues a violence meant to stifle the very being you etched for me.
Anxious, alert, and ambiguous as you raised me,
Reaps a soul meant for an earsplitting dissent; however,
Every word that comes out of my mouth—my pen,
Shivers upon a tottering conviction,
Shakes like an aggressive tuck-tailed dog,
As if held at gunpoint, chokehold—like the journalist we saw on TV.
Pray for me, Mother, as I have created dreams out of dread.

Encroached and persecuted are those we watched in obscure reds and grays,
Rallied along the streets, pleading the same insolent for promises they were denied.
Carrying the same heart I do, their humanity is met by bloodied hands,
Yet their cries hold limbs that bear the weight of their resistance.
Lost, but remains to be found, the stains of the past,
Among those who fell but stood ‘til their last breath,
Preludes the heritage of the ones who will brave next.

I fear for the life you have given me, Mother,
Dare I live for the remains of truth-tellers; I must become one, too.

–

NOTE: This literary piece was published in the April 2025 Tabloid Issue of Atenews. Grab a physical copy for free in the Atenews office.