Body as the earth, rivers pouring out, pain and sorrow and joy. All the seasons, all the reasons, turning and changing with the revolutions, the passing of days and times, good and bad. When quakes erupt from within, the skins stretches and the organs shift and the soul has to make a choice: heal, or lay down and let the darkness win. Drowning in the haunting, grainy, black and white "remember," with only tiny pores to release the bitter poison of injustice. Every step forward is an ordinary miracle. Something to be overlooked, taken for granted, repeated but never forgotten. Pink tongue like fruit, fine hairs like the grass, and only the mountains to rise.
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