There are voices buried beneath our feet—
not ghosts, but memories trying to grow back.
Each stone I touch hums a name,
each wind tastes like something forgotten.
The earth told me healing is not gentle;
it groans, it cracks, it weeps through us.
I have seen fields bloom from ashes,
heard rivers sing over bones.
We are not broken—we are unfinished.
Our scars are blueprints of survival,
our songs are the bridges we build
between yesterday and forgiveness.
When the world turns away,
we plant our words like seeds.
Some will die before morning,
but some will find light in impossible soil.
So, we speak—not because we are brave,
but because silence is heavier than truth.
Every breath we take rewrites the horizon.
Every voice becomes a pulse in the planet’s chest.
And if you listen long enough,
you’ll hear it too—
the sound of the earth remembering
how to love us again.
Nathan Felix is a writer and poet who explores themes of memory, healing, and the human spirit. His works often reflect global concerns of identity and resilience. He is the Brigitte Poirson Literature Prize 2025 winner (1st Runner-Up, Poetry).
