Beneath the Festivities

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Beneath the ancient trees, where whispers dwell,

I hear echoes of a time when shadows fell—

A silent cry from depths I’ve seen,

A story etched in wounds between.


My humble soul, in earth’s cold grip,

I serve in shadows, a sorrowed slip—

A hole in ground, a banana leaf,

A symbol of disdain, my silent grief.


No feast of joy, no radiant cheer,

Just hollow echoes of what once was near—

Festivals of light, yet shadows cast,

A chasm deep, a history vast.


My dignity, a fragile flame,

Buried beneath social shame—

Cast aside, ignored, unseen,

I live in a world unkind and mean.


Oh, how my heart aches for the pain I bear,

For silent suffering, a lingering snare—

A reminder that beneath the surface lies,

A longing for equality, for open skies.


I call for change, I make this plea,

To break the chains that bind me—

A world where all are held with grace,

Where love and justice fill each space.


I dream each soul deserves a table of love,

Not a hollow hole, but the skies above—

Where dignity blooms like flowers in spring,

And freedom’s song begins to sing.


May dawn’s light dispel the shadows of old,

Transforming stories of sorrow I’ve told—

From exclusion’s grip to unity’s embrace,

A future born of hope and grace.


So I rise, with heart anew,

To weave a world both just and true—

Where no one’s worth is left unseen,

And every soul is valued, free, and clean.



And let our feasts, our joyful days,
Not end in waste, in careless ways—
But feed the hungry, share the flame,
And make our joy a common name

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