They beat us crying,
We, the strong,
Our voices drowned in sorrow,
Our pain, silent as the night.
They beat us wailing,
But the echoes belong to them.
It is their wailing you hear,
Not ours,
Their grief, louder than our pleas.
They set upon us in tears,
So we cannot weep.
Our hearts break,
But their brokenness is what you see.
They are powerful,
Yet vulnerable,
A contradiction wrapped in privilege.
And we,
We stand by their side,
Bound by unspoken loyalty,
While the world praises their suffering,
For the full tide of sympathy,
All the weight of collective grief,
Belongs to her.