History is no longer history
because we live through it now
and it will be our home in the future.

History is when even the common man
becomes a warrior,
Because the only leader
is his own heart,
and the only commander
is his own voice.
Yet, the words he wants to say
are caught with a net that has no holes
and imprisoned in a glass jar.

History is when the pure fountain in the
center of the city’s heart
is dirtied with the people’s tears
that have been squeezed forcefully
from their eyes,
Because the greater beings had no ears
to hear the people’s cries;
they had only eyes that saw
an intangible anger
lighting the square on fire.

History is when the stone
they march upon
opens its lips
and drinks their protests,
Then in turn holding up its arm
to lift the people’s spirit
because the footprints they leave behind
are the kind that strengthens the Earth.

History is when people use speech,
Something supposedly given to us at birth,
something supposedly given to us on parchment,
and yet,
something not completely free.