Some histories are hidden
Between the gap of
One thought and the next.
The ones- all the pens
Fail etch on the papers.
The tongues lose them in
The silence of the pauses,
Like it was collateral damage
To the mute citizens.
The stands, taken and
Not taken in the record books-
The words that are bought
And the narratives, sold.
Cuban missile crisis at
One point was important,
Only because Churchill didn't
Get his cigars in time-
My country was half-done
As it didn't have any oil.
And the bullies who write
History gulp down the gaps
Like coffee.
The blood of indentured labor-
On each cup is often,
Overlooked and the bitterness
Is dumbed down with
Extra spoons of sugar-
As the sweetness of words
Can romanticize even
Well-planned genocides.
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