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Echoes of Blindness
I grew up blind
The kind that fades away with the gaping eye of knowledge
word on the tip of every patriotic tongue was independence
Little did my shut brain know, sham was a better word for it
The physicality was removed, that is certain
But ideas and creeds are still sung, venerating them
It’s as if our souls were trained for the job-faultlessly
Yet freedom is cried out from the fantasy of the beholder
How could it be that they quantify us unchained?
When the model of sophistication and elegance embellished
Fall in the wondrous sculpture molded of anything but our culture
Language is deemed "uncouth,” evermore forgotten as ancestral splendor
Colonialism ended to let on a superior beneficial exploitation
What better shrewdness than one concocted in plain sight?
We’ve seen their pockets outgrow them with our gold, our dignity
While we’re outran by their wars, and still, we grow old-blind
Copyright ©
Elle M.
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