I am the yellow cup of freedom,
Filling the oppressed with light and hope,
Striking darkness with glow as warm as morning sunlight.
I am a wet painting of grief,
Each stroke is my ancestors’ blood,
Paving a life as carefree as leaves falling from a tree,
With a heart as strong as a steel pan
Yet alive in love.
I am the clean book of faith,
As faithful as sand in an hourglass,
Hard covered and bold,
Organic and processed,
Yet when torn apart.
My story is not complete.