If not on rocks, then on concrete; we revere our dead
ancestors. Our work, an imprint of our giant step.
So pure our memory,
bare a land of many properties. Contrarily, if we pour libation on the ground,
we offer language. If we offer language and a mother, then there must be no
God. Humanity: realistic concept born
to a breeding slave with no legs.
Who am I. Who are you.
Our present, spirituality from speculation. I : I – don’t
know who I am. Mirroring to an eternal return; with no presence or gratitude.
What do we truly leave behind? I word you or prejudice.
By Karinna A. Gulias
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| Burial area at Calverton National Cemetery. |
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