We are still here

Three silhouettes hold the shore,
motionless as if the night itself had drawn them.
Their blankets are heavy with color and history,
woven by patient hands,
laden with seasons passed,
laden with names whispered through time.

Beside them,
a white horse breathes slowly,
each breath rising and falling
like a quiet drum in the dark,
an ancient beat
that has never ceased to pulse.

The moon rises, full and unblinking,
not like a lamp,
not like a hurried light,
but like the eye of an elder
who remembers all the names
the world tried to bury,
all the faces they tried to erase,
all the stories they tried to silence.

It does not judge.
It recognizes.

Wildflowers lean close,
their stems brushing the night,
as if they too want to listen.
They listen to steps that do not move,
to hearts that speak without sound,
because some moments are stronger
when they choose quiet.

A girl learns the shape of patience
by watching an adult remain gentle.
Not weak.
Gentle.

A woman learns the shape of courage
by letting children stand by her side,
not behind her,
not hidden,
not silenced.
By her side.
Visible.
Alive.

The water carries the night's reflection
like a promise kept in the mouth,
a promise that does not seek to be shouted,
but honored.
Held with care.
Never overturned.

They do not speak loudly.
They speak in presence.
In the uprightness of shoulders,
in the way hands remain open,
in the way no one looks away.

The horse waits.
Not because it is tethered.
Not because it is afraid.
It waits because it knows.
It knows no one here is rushed.
It knows no one here is lost.

Drums carrying presence and resonance

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See the drums

If the world demands forgetting,
they respond with memory.
If the world demands silence,
they respond with songs
kept within their ribs,
where the stories beat
that no one managed to kill.

They do not ask permission to exist.
They exist.

Stars scatter like pearls in the sky,
each a small reminder
that people are still here,
that peoples are still here,
that the earth still recognizes them,
even when the world pretends not to see.

And under this moon,
by this water,
in this inhabited silence,
life continues to softly say:
We are still here.

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