woven, weaving

 

by Ayesha Cala

I. you awaken to
the first rays of sunlight; the song of  the rooster; the bustle of your people filling the air; you think of how today	the bustling of the city,  from dreams of your home where the river's song once lulled you to sleep; you tell yourself the engines’ hum
is a blessing from the world
II. tell me about the choices you have made to keep surviving; tell me the stories behind the patterns you  sell to the people who  do not know what they mean
III. you are` known as the
richest; your land is coveted by people who  care not for its history; they do not even know the value of what  they're taking;	poorest; your culture is taught in schools as if you are living history, yet there is a struggle for education; for healthcare; for permanence;
it is a treasure they will never understand the full value of
IV. tell me about the promises made; how the earth, once yours, slips through your fingers like sand, each grain a memory of the the life before the threads of your land were pulled apart by foreign hands
V. you follow the
ways of your ancestors; it is a struggle, to keep weaving the tapestry of your fading culture; but you are not alone; each thread is a prayer, a helping hand; you continue together	sounds of the colonizers; you are homesick for a place that is no more; a string cut short in an unfinished tapestry; you keep surviving