My people
have looked Death in her eyes
over
and over
and over
and over again.
Death
came in the form of slavery
under the hand of an enemy once called friend
hungry and particular
presented herself as resolution to seem palatable
to mask the stench of decay
Death
demanded our homeland
ripped it from the clutched palms of soulless fists
stepped on the graves of a once flourishing land
stole
and consumed it
Death
sought out the breadcrumb trail from our expulsion
lurked in the walls of looted homes
her blind hatred staining the paint with innocent blood
Death
came in the form of brutal camps
mass graves
of hellish fires
starving flames
death came in the form of neighbors turned strangers
turned executors
Death tried to consume the last of us.
In the end,
Death lost to the warriors called my ancestors.
Yes,
she put up a strong fight
tried to thin my bloodline out to erasure
but she could not succeed.
She could not catch us.
She never would.
My ancestors
looked death in the eyes and blinded her
swallowed her whole and spat her out with the Psalms
liberated our homeland from her hungry belly
and rebuilt it,
celebrated our victory
not of her demise but of our survival.
We are a people of not only surviving,
but really living
Death only taught us the beauty of life when she tried to take ours from us.
Every now and then her grasp on us tightens,
but it will never again be so close to suffocating us breathless.
My people
have looked Death in her eyes
over
and over
and over
and over again.
And,
as it will always be,
They lived.
