Salt sand blood

Salt, sand, blood.

Your feet drilling in the sand,
Reminds me of this holiday.
Remember diving in my universe, in my iris.

This bloodline was a trap,
Believing those past stories, written about my ancestors by those who tortured them.

Travelling over this bank of salt,
When our soul heard a call to refuse.
Refuse to be in chains, but we had no choice.

Yet today the story of this structural violence;
Is not taught in school, is taboo, and
Is not what people want to hear.

They keep talking, are offended when I ask about the impact of the blood that swapped from land, to salt banks and to the collective consciousness.

The narratives followed only the colonial directives, backed by ruins of the empire dynamics.

For we are still equal. Hmm I think.