Reflection:
Sound travels through memory. There are voices in my past that still echo, sounds in the silence that still shape me. I write to give voice to what others dare not say aloud.
Poem:
I hear the land speak.
It groans beneath the weight of forgotten promises
and still whispers the names of its children.
I hear church bells and motorcycles,
and weeping that doesn’t need translation.
I hear laughter at funerals
and silence at weddings.
Sometimes, I write the unsaid—
the things people mean but cannot name.
Their pauses. Their broken syllables.
I write their echoes
so they know
they are not alone.
