Native Tongue

The way my baba talks,

I wish I could do the same

I wish I could take back

All that was taken away

The songs, the stories,

The way of life

We didn't go down easily,

But by the end of it,

We had no more fight

We cried and were ignored

We died and were ignored

We worked and were forgotten

Buried and were forgotten

Our voices were drowned,

as were our tongues

Our brains were washed,

The water fell in each lung

When our elders are gone,

What will be left?

Just the dark, soulless void

Of theft