Every day I silently pray that my soul will return to me.

Buried beneath the colonizer's net,

Buried underground where even in silence,

Ear pressed to the ground,

I struggle to hear it.

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Every day I silently wish,

That when I wake up, it will be with a kiss,

Of the rising sun

Of liberation's call.

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And when I hug it back, I will know,

Through symphony of culture breathing free,

That I can walk with love

And listen to the beating heart

Of the laughter of children.

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What does it mean to be free?

It is a taste I've never known.

Even as I walk in the open,

My soul lies underground, and my movements feel counterfeit.