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.