A worker bee that makes the honey is entitled to his minimum wage,

But the king bees poke at the hornet’s nest and rob us till old age,

I planted myself in the rich soil of my nation,

But the leaders refused to nurture or approve irrigation,

They came as thieves in animal clothing at night and planted weed,

My tiny roots wedged in the stubborn soil could not breathe,

The grasses stifled me as I tried to sprout out and reach out for the sun,

I seek to be an orchard, pine, or fig,

To hover above cold mountains, glaciers not poisoned by oil rigs,

Time is passing with each rotation of the sun,

But our bodies have refused to absorb the nutrients like water to a sponge,

In a positive reaction of phototropism, I moved to the sunlight,

I moved to ruminate in a place where the grass was greener at first light,

My sister stayed back, eating her remnants of courage and puffing out hope,

Until her lungs were blackened with the daily shoving of brutality down her throat,

I culled her tears in a Petri Dish as a specimen and nurtured it for days,

And it left patches of microbes like birds whose wings have been clipped away,

I wonder how a caterpillar feels as it forms a cocoon,

Does it think the world is over or does it know it will be a butterfly by noon?


I wander headless into the future, looking down from the top,

Not wondering what would kill me first, the biting cold or racist cop,

But I would never know if I didn’t leave my discomfort zone to the next bus stop,

There would be moments when you will bloom fully,

Only to wilt and bloom again freely,

If we can learn anything from the flowers or butterflies,

It is that resilience is born even when we feel like we are about to die.

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