They may bury the corpse in a gravesite unmarked
warehouse the remains in the backrooms of empire
slander the name and the person
demonise the sacredness
but they cannot silence the echoing voice
of a living ancestress
who breeds defiance in her womb,
never bowing before imposed gods
and the creeds of their false prophets
raising whirlwinds of rage
even at the threshold of death’s door
invoking dead bones back to life
to wage transgenerational wars
that give rise to new and necessary liberations.
They cannot drown out the insistent voice
of a high priestess
performing her loudest and most deafening ritual
in the hour of her greatest oppression
in her moment of finality.
They may kill the form
but the spirit keeps rising
again and again
undefeated.
