We own these streets.

Stumbling takkies

And high-heeled open-toed high-heels

Pitter Patter

Up and down

Till the pavement

Is worn clean of memories

Yet history lurks…

Is the air really free of foul deceit?

Is the water purified by freedom?

Is the earth not ridden with martyrs?

Is blood not polluted by vengeful fire?

We own these streets.

What the past has seen

Crawls out through our

Blackened eyelashes

And tears salt Fresh wounds.

Published by alexiima

Life's a party in a sunflower field. Even when we wilt, we are beautiful to behold.

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