In twilight’s fading glow, a voice stirs unseen,
It is the song of those from shadows gleaned.
They Walk with broken backs, hands worn and bruised,
Society’s edges, abandoned and used.

Is justice but a whispered prayer in the dark?
Or does it stand, a flame, a fierce spark?
To the powers that sleep in golden halls,
Hear now the cry from those who crawl.

O poet, wield your pen, a blade and balm,
For those who’ve lost their sacred calm.
Write of their plight, let voices rise,
From twilight’s end to morning’s skies.

Slipi, January 8, 2025. 9:38 PM