Douze Janvye

I was not there but I am assuming now was probably the worst time for most, after the devastating earthquake. Those who were unconscious began to stir, trapped with no light in sight. Those who were stuck realized as it got darker, no one was coming for them. Those who had loved one’s take their last breath in their presence were praying that their time surely would come. No sharp object around to end the emotional pain that surpassed the physical. Those who were pregnant anticipating giving birth to a lifeless life or a lifeless life. 

Oh how we complain about what may seem to be a hard life, in our POV, but nothing compared to that midnight hour in Ayiti Cheri. Our beloved, Kiskeya Boyo, mother of the earth. 

Indeed, the load we carry is heavy and at any moment we may or may not collapse under it. But nothing like collapsing with an earth that betrayed you. An earth that promised to hold and guide your feet along the paths of life. 

Did you feel the heaviness of Ayiti Cheri, earth? Did you grieve along with her strife? Is destruction your method of grieving, earth? When I grieve, I repair myself. Why can’t you repair our beloved, earth? Why can’t you fix this? 

When I am depressed, everything just festers and disappears into my whole being. You, earth, your mentality is not supposed to resemble human nature. Your job is to support our feet. We are supposed to hit solid ground when we fall. But you, earth, you swallowed them whole. 

You swallowed our seeds and gave them no hope to bring forth life. 

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