BY GLORIA O’KOYE
The drums and songs have saved
Generations from the turmoils of
Cursed Lands filled with lost souls.
Where decisions were made by choice
Or wrongful convictions, or ones filled
In the spirit of necessities.
Where they are laid to rest
Behind walls that would label them
For eternity as the enemy.
Only for the potential threats
Of good medicines to be taken away
By those whose intention and beliefs
May hinder restorative practices,
Only promoting punishments.
A tear equates to a thousand leaks
From any vessel that grips to the speck
Of redemption.
To be heard
To be seen.
While some only see it as cuts to keep
Pockets well fed
Could be the only thing that keeps
One’s sanity, within a limbo
A foot in this realm
Another foot wanting to exit to find peace
In the next.
How many more waterfalls does it need
To drench up the concrete jungle
Known as society to take a glimpse.
The greed of reductions to save pennies
Will cost humanity more
But it’ll be too late once everything
That was taken for granted
Disappears and is gone.
For the women in Edmonton Institution that have been facing refusals for being able to play on the big drum. There are folks out here that stand with you all.
