Anecdotes to an (un)static history

 

Wasn't it when we trespassed the fragile margins
of a known and unknown history,
written and unwritten narratives,
taught ourselves, our people
the sanctioned versions of our momentous histories,
to serve the killjoy extremists
of all origins;
they who killed love and labelled it patriotism
burnt down cities, bombed the innocent
in the name of love,
to secure what was theirs
grab pieces from others
blow the ashes into air
bury the dead with silent prayers?

history is a rhizome
history is the living me
the living you,
for the roots keep growing
under the surface
entangling, fighting for space,
Space
to breathe
grow
live.