Hands Held High, Hearts Unbroken

We raise our hands like flags
Of nations yet unborn,
Each finger a declaration,
Each palm a manifesto
Of flesh and bone and hope.

They tried to teach us shame —
To hide these hands,
To fold them quiet in laps,
To make them small enough
To fit their expectations.

But these hands remember:
Grandmother’s hands kneading bread,
Father’s hands building homes,
Mother’s hands weaving futures
From threads of determination.

Our hands speak languages
They tried to silence:
Sign language of resistance,
Finger-spelled freedom songs,
Touch-poems of survival.

See how we lift them now,
Brown and black and gold,
Scarred from labor,
Stained with earth and art,
Beautiful in their defiance.

These hands that picked their cotton,
Built their empires,
Cleaned their houses,
Now write their own stories,
Paint their own portraits,
Sculpt their own destiny.

Our hearts, they could not break —
Though they tried with whips
And laws and lies,
With prison bars
And poverty’s slow poison.

We keep them beating,
These drums of flesh,
These rhythm-keepers,
These life-carriers,
These love-makers.

Watch us now,
Hands raised in victory,
Hearts pounding freedom-songs,
Creating constellations
Of connection above
Their walls of separation.

We are writing tomorrow
In sign language to the stars,
Each gesture a promise,
Each heartbeat a revolution,
Each raised hand
A flag of hope unfurled.

They cannot stop
This uprising of spirit,
This rebellion of joy,
This revolution of raised hands
And unbroken hearts
Rising, rising, ever rising.

Together we reach
Beyond their boundaries,
Beyond their barriers,
Beyond their beliefs
About what we can be.

Hands held high,
Hearts unbound,
We create the future
They said we couldn’t have,
One touch,
One beat,
One raised fist
At a time.