If it weren’t for the brave and the outspoken, we would still be slaves. This is a poem for the risen. May we rise every day.

Years of oppression, of subduing and tyranny,
made you rise, revolt and defect,
away from the maltreatment, domination, and calamity
unto the freedom, the autocracy, and the self-determination.

Gone are the days of suffering, of hardness and harshness,
now you’re free to exist, express, and rule,
compulsion, restrictions, and control
no longer have a grip, a hold, a clutch.

Slaves, captives, and pawns,
walk, talk, and stand, risen at last,
wearing your rights on your sleeves, your pride in your eyes, and your freedom in your hearts,
just as you should.

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