Screaming into silence,
And yet still unheard.
The anguish reverberating back
Through patterns of time
As of yet to be broken.
Wrongs not made right
Tears not dried,
Mothers cries echoing through generations
My jaw clenched with frustration,
As my heart feels the fear,
And my eyes become blind in the dark.
Distracted by the stories
And the sifting of the truth
Like straining sand in a desert.
I listen to the birds
In the hope that I can interpret their wisdom.
I kneel in the clay
For the touch of her earth.
I open my arms to greet the comfort of the wind.
I go inside to the fires that burn,
For a place of justice and right.
Repeating patterns
Since the dawn of time
Of anger, attachment and ignorance-
Running concurrently with patterns of love, and hope, and wisdom.
Coinciding in harmony in a place of chaos and order.
Our heart is our hope.
Our hope is our hope.
The perpetrator of the suffering suffers the most as,
They do not know the light.
Our hope is our light.
Our hope is in our hearts.
Our hearts are our hope.
Hope.
Poem by Gina ní Dhuinnshléibe
Image Credits: Unsplash – Miguel Bruna / Lina Trochez
