Don't look here

on the days when your voice

is lost as a mumble, or a slur,

or a broken song:

I will be scattered;

intangible; a pepper

of smaller traces.

Spirit that the world said no to,

unwatered wallflower, I recall

when your days had the mercy

of callous warlords; when every eye condemned

with the nature of a solemn judge,

and burnt you at the stake of fierce indifference.

How you toiled with that puzzle of ashes; how

each dawn's ruthless jackboot kicked them

from the cradle of your patient hands.

Darkness assigned your role - cast

you as a wraith to dwell upon a shadow's fringe:

close enough to witness light; enslaved beneath the pall.