Bright Flames

we are the blank pages before us

we are the ink that forms the words

we are the earth beneath our feet

we are the sum of what we call our own

we are gold morning light, the wind

that blows the trees. we are not the owners

of our bodies. we are holding up the mirror

we are hope. we are dreams. we are young

and old. we are flames, burning brightly

before we flicker and fade

we are all made of stars

we are not the world’s creation

we are still, listening to who we are

we are all of our different selves

we are the history of our people

we are overcoming. we are truth and lies

we are all black angels, making milk and honey

we are yellow leaves, falling from pale skies

we are the heartbeats of our homes

we are an ancient city

we are life and mind and self

we are separate and connected

we are breathing, we are kind

we are poverty. we are wealth

we are lighting fires for others

we are a part of everyone we’ve met

we are darkness. we are light

we are the people we most fear

we are breaking bubbles

we are our own best guesses

we are all Daniel Blake. we are all refugees

we are different and the same

we are what we have in common

we are the sun that warms our skin

we are cold, winter rain

we are all stories, waiting to be told.

 

Louisa Adjoa Parker