LET US LISTEN TO THE VOICE OF OUR MARTYRS

Imagine us not,
Merely as dead, blown away by easterly winds,
For we still hovered in the skies like eagles,
O'er the hills and the valleys.
Vigilantly watching over every happening beneath us.

We are sad, very sad indeed,
More sad than when we were alive,
Not for what our enemies have done to us thus far,
But for the lack of love and unity among our people,
And the useless debates over our name and true identity.

It seems we had been forgotten by y'all so soon.
We'd been raped, mutilated, beheaded, burned alive.
Killed in broad daylight without any mercy.
Like a chicken being chased to be killed for supper.

For my part, I was dragged out of my Quarters,
Stoned, punched, hit, and shoved to the ground.
Petrol was poured all over my body while I still breathed,
Then burnt alive, turning me to ashes.
They continued to mock and ridicule over my remains.

But we had a soul that couldn't be killed or destroyed.
And that very soul of ours has now risen to speak to you all.
In the Morgue, Florence, and Olivia once said -
“Min, let's tell our people neither to surrender nor to retreat,
Until the sun rises above the hills of our fatherland for freedom.”