We skip school.
drink gin.

lurk late.
smoke on Mondays.

hum and dances on sin.

On late June, troubles bloom.
clouds gloom.

No tunes.
We die soon.

no one owns this land
bloodshed and atrocity
lord tyrants and battlements

the Vikings seafaring
Erik the Red with his sons
Leif and Thorvald, continuing the journey
Columbus, Champlain, Cartier...
Jacques Cartier looking for China found ‘Kanata’ and they now call Canada
captived Donnacona and his clan from Stadacona

the mariners, cartographers
no one owns this land

the slavery and civil war of Catholicism and Protestants
the ‘Black Death’ from bubonic plague

the man’s bones from the rat’s alley
below the ground with sunken skeletons
who fought with swords and knives and a broken arrow trying to dug up their way

to the bridges and skyscrapers that buried them deep with the poison of ideology
that says ‘you are not welcome’

the silent voices screams
‘this is our land, this is our land...
this is not our land and there shall be no peace.’

I stood and read the letters
with a pinch of disappointment
of no candles or flowers to buy
I looked up the sky and believed
that beyond the thick
combust are billion of stars
scintillating for the dying hearts
and the roses
that was left languished
on the floor

a remnants of photos
remained
with notes and mournful regrets
flooded the walls

the world just keeps going
which is supposed to
No one heard me cry
for the souls had left the atrocious lane behind

I touched the petals
that used to bloom
and throes my heart
that life has to presume

She wept
tears huge as a mountain
of Alaska
She never gave up
like how Kaneq
made her strong
she fought the battles
that turned her into a warrior

As an outsider
she needs to learn how to live
for there are thousand ways to be killed
in this once forbidden land

Shoot, aim and ****
sweat and blood

she believed she was weak
that’s what she believed