to erase the curves of memory.

Street names honour men

who never slept here,

never learned the language of this wind,

never asked the river where it wished to go.

Our homes became “zones.”

Our lives became “informal.”

Our grief was rezoned as inconvenience.

Still, we gather on corners

where history leaks through cracks.

We cook in defiance of noise ordinances.

We sing where singing is not allowed.

Power builds walls.

We build stories that climb them.

Each step is a refusal.

Each breath, a small riot.

Each body saying:

I am not temporary.

I am not misplaced.

This city lives in us now,

unmapped,

unpermitted,

unconquered.