What if our ancestors never spoke,
and the gong was never heard
What if we never listened at the dying
bed of the dead
What if the pages never turn and the
pen never bled
What if they never spoke the truth for
fear of losing their head
How will we ever know, about all we
are and all we have been
How will we ever know, that blood was
spilled for us to live and not to exist
How will we ever know, that we don’t
need that approval to feel right
How will we ever know, that we don’t
need permission to be what we are
what we have been
It does not matter if we do not win,
we don’t play to win, we do not even play
It’s not a game
It is our name, it is our culture, it
is our tradition!
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