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There, where death tainted the sea
and the walls hid the dawn.
There, where the wind ceased to sing
and the sirens took the place of birds,
we heard nothing.
But she is alive.
There, where freedom wrestles with darkness
and flesh turned into storm.
There, where man denied man
and genocide became a profitable venture,
we still heard nothing.
Our yard—
blood.
Our heart—
a fence.
And a cloud of submission
washing away our shame.
But she is alive—she always will be.
Her pulse will echo
wherever there is resistance.
Chains unbroken
cling for life-
an endless shadow.
Like Prometheus
on a desolate cliff,
you ask yourself:
is this a sentence
or your will?

— The End —