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Broken shell

After a lengthy time of climbing
I sit on the hill peak of courage.
Drafting my testimony on an inkless page of my acquired voicelessness,
Looking down pieces of the shell broken scattered in the valley where
My identity had been locked with my background and sealed in that  cocoon of countless soul-crippling fears,
With the key not placed anywhere near but thrown to drown in the pool of my pain and tears


It was dark in there.
There was no air, I
couldn't breathe there....
But now I am free here.

There, lack of freedom is defined as obedience and I
No longer could bear the confined shells in which my wings were squashed and couldn't spread......

I could no longer endure how
I had to  scream with my voice so my heart could be heard
Because inked words weren't loud enough to shake the screens of crowds

There, humidity is enough to incinerate breads of dreams into crumbs that are bitter to taste even before nations can feast on them

But now, I sit on the hill drafting and looking at it broken.
Hearing echoes of those with whose ideas I had mine imprisoned
Their voices speak to me pleading
That I may have their stories too told in between angry lines of my drafted testimony and it hurts,
Hearing how the wind on this hill peak tells me stories of different occurrences that has transpired with me confined in a shell of formidable darkness.

Events of women from whose bruised lips had to come a song of courage every Sunday with a Hallelujah and A man who every weekday all day gives them punches as if they were gifts hanging from the ceiling like punching bags.....

I couldn't believe that such stories were thrown in the bookshelf of the untold when I was in the shell there yet

Now I sit on the hill peak and draft.......
The urge is too powerful,
The call is too loud,

As for the shell.....
Leave it broken and its pieces scattered far as the East and the West apart from each other so that I can breathe and the nations  cry...through my voice


Broken Shell

Poetic Rea
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