Her(story)

Her name flows as rhythmically as her shifting currents

She is timeless

She cannot be defined

She cannot be confined

to a mere remnant of colonial conquest

She is rich

she is pure

her very body made up of light

The same light that that soaks up her fertile shores

and that spawns such abundance of life

vibrantly cheering her on from the depths of its soil

She is not some playground

for some dead British monarch

blood flows between her ripples

blood of the countless number of people

who heard her call first

they lived, played and worked

with her vibrant rhythm

life was played out with each passing current

This all ceased once the invaders came.

villages were destroyed

histories seemingly forgotten and erased

of a whole people (s)

yet she remembers

oh the times have changed

yet she has stayed the same in her strength

in her resilience

she had not forgotten

of who she is

of who we are

of where we shall go

Neglected

abandoned

by the savagery of modern times

yet she persists still

to love

freer and more justly than ever before

for she is not angry, only exhausted

she knows that she is loved

she knows no other than love

for that is her natural form

she loves us dearly

all of us

relatives of the land

but she refuses to be remembered

by being cursed with the name of a tyrant, and an oppressor

the very same tyrant who carelessly let his bloody burden be taken on

by her innocence

by her vulnerability

alas, do not confuse her love

her compassion

her openness

as weak

for she is anything but

all she asks is that

we remember her name.