October 26, 2020•244 words
Years fly by and this man manages to keep hold onto his position. Standing with both feet on the ground, guarding its pedestal. He was made to be big from the start of his existence. The wealth he provided, payed for the memory they choose to create. I decline to fall for his size, but I do choose to create too.
I'll create a memory; whenever I think of him again, I will look at what he is created by. I will look at his skin, that is now heavy, hard and cold. I will look at him and be reminded of what I see: a man turned into stone, as cold as his heart and as hard as his deeds. I will be reminded of how his soul is now equivalent to his physique.
Only having the ability to be seen, not to be heard. While he keeps standing still, I'll keep on moving towards my ancestors. Imagining that he will see the pain that he has left and the voices he has taken away. I'm hoping for him to see the beauty of the Alifuru, and to understand their loyalty to their belief. I will imagine him looking at me, see me and acknowledge the history we share. I will imagine him understanding that we were once both constructed by the same materials. I will imagine he'll get off his pedestal once my part of our shared history is being heard.