…one day I will write a story
But I won’t write it in ink
 … It fades…
And I will not write it on paper
… It rots…
When I finally write this story…
 It will not be in black… or bleak…
Or bright… in blindness
My story of you… for you…
Are colours of unparalleled gallantry
And celebrations of the free…
Betrayal unimagined
Spelling out pain untold
Inside crumbling prison walls
Of silence…so deafening…
And of wailing so loud
… Yet unheard…
Sleepless nights
Of endless quests
Vacant eyed young refugees
As dreams die
Bowed headed old heroes
With cold bones
As despondence seeps
…Then…
That which ink cannot write
And paper will not hold
I will splatter on rock faces
And into the rivers
On tree trunks
And on sea shores
I will write it on city walls
And prison gates
On our foreheads
Into our handshakes
And finally onto our psyche
Using these very tears