Refugees

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We were born sining prayers to the Earth.

Our songs carried in the wind

and took refuge inside of fire.

They lit from the outside in

as they twisted

and curled.

We let the meaning rest

on the skin of our faces

and sink into our bones.

When our fingertips no longer needed answers,

we silenced our songs with the breath of our lips,

turning the words to gray as they spiraled upwards

to become part of the Sun.

Now we stretch our arms to the sky

longing to hold the Sun in our hands

and let its light break between our fingers.

Mother Earth writes poetry in the lines of our skin

and whispers to the furthest point in our eyes

longing for us to remember.

We forgot how to listen.