Is This The Freedom

In the crucible of striving, we've toiled for gain,
Yet mere wealth won't redeem our collective pain.
Our bodies bear scars of ages of strife,
Traded now for brands, commodifying life.

Through battles fought and sectors led,
Taxes paid, still conditional dread.
"Free," they say, with a cautionary tone,
Freedom promised, yet chains not overthrown.

Postponed to the afterlife, this elusive prize,
We demand it now, beneath the open skies.
No more waiting for rights to be endowed,
We reclaim our voice, bold and unbowed.

Silence speaks louder than words ever could,
And actions spoke louder than promises would.
Critique our resistance with a knowing glance,
For those who stand, steeped in our shared dance.

Genuine advocacy, not hollow cries,
Silence speaks louder when truths arise.
Centuries we've buoyed this nation's crest,
Yet exploitation gnaws, a relentless quest.

Our culture, not costume, but living art,
Magic within, beating a defiant heart.
Labeled "magic," yet human through and through,
We rise to claim what is rightfully due.

Our freedom, our humanity, fiercely earned,
In unity and truth, undeniably affirmed.