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109
Student @ Babcock University
UNTAMED WORDS
<p>They came with fire, but feared our flame,</p><p>taught us silence, then gave it a name.</p><p>Stole our stories, rewrote our lore,</p><p>then asked why we sang no more.</p><p><br/></p><p>But hush is not the grave’s domain;</p><p>we were seeds beneath the rain.</p><p>Buried deep in dust and drum,</p><p>our voices waited—now they come.</p><p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000359809.jpg"/></p><p>From mortar's pound and midnight song,</p><p>from names they twisted all along,</p><p>we rise, not begging to belong;</p><p>our tongues were exiled, not wrong.</p><p><br/></p><p>Hear this:</p><p>the earth remembers every word</p><p>the colonizer never heard.</p><p>It beats in slang and lullabies,</p><p>in dusty proverbs, cracked replies.</p><p><br/></p><p>Now, when we speak, the sky leans in;</p><p>our breath, a storm beneath the skin.</p><p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000359810.jpg"/></p><p>We name ourselves again:</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>Oríkì ọmọ oṣupa</strong>,</p><p>child of moonlight and thunder,</p><p>whose voice splits silence</p><p>like palmwine on stone.</p><p><br/></p><p>No mimicry.</p><p>No borrowed skin.</p><p>We are the voice,</p><p>and we begin.</p>
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