They are building altars on bloodied grounds and calling dead gods to bless purging promises they made in their name. They are cultivating hatred for melanin sundresses and rainbows. They are killing trees, making paper, and writing “save trees” on it.
They are cutting the tongues that sing bard tales of a reality no one wants to know. They are playing blind man’s buff when my witches are hunted for their existence. They are listening to news plugged in their air pods on nights when my sisters’ screams are drowned under brutality, under voices who haven’t been told to shut the fuck up for too long. They are forwarding WhatsApp messages which are examples of “divide and rule policy” I wrote in my history exam. They are giving gender roles the colors of blue and pink but not entitlement to the humans who smile radiant but tired smiles even when you deny the existence of their identity.
Your superiority complex makes me count my steps with every second I walk at night. Your God complex has forced me to be a refugee of Narnia.
Progressiveness is a censored joke in politics. Self-denial is the prettiest form of self-harm. How do you breathe when the air is so toxic? How do you nurture innocence when the clouds are sending Morse codes of this dystopian reality? How? How? Hope. Hope.
Because hope is a scab you scratch till it bleeds, because uncertainty is the debris of hope, because you need to survive and baby, hope gives you enough patience to survive this reality that you desperately wish was your nightmare.
You breathe because the air is drugged with hope. You breathe because your survival is hope, your survival is rebellion. You breathe because “hope is the only thing stronger than fear”.
//”Breathe of Hope”// Enigma
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Picture Credits: Enigma (Inktober 2020 Art Day 10 Hope)
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