Maybe it is all I can do,
Maybe it is all I have,
But if I have nothing else, my words will talk back...
They will push off your hand,
Hard pressed against my mouth,
They will cry loud against white and black,
No turban will shroud my soul;
My voice will always shout back...
My grandmother's wise sigh,
My mother's desparate gaze,
Their wrapped-heads in black
Will always talk back ...
From your bombs, I pick my pen,
From repression I choose my ink,
And on your turban I will write back
Songs of resistance and resilience
Songs of life born new,
I will be defiantly talking back...
Maybe it is all I have,
But if I have nothing else, my words will talk back...
They will push off your hand,
Hard pressed against my mouth,
They will cry loud against white and black,
No turban will shroud my soul;
My voice will always shout back...
My grandmother's wise sigh,
My mother's desparate gaze,
Their wrapped-heads in black
Will always talk back ...
From your bombs, I pick my pen,
From repression I choose my ink,
And on your turban I will write back
Songs of resistance and resilience
Songs of life born new,
I will be defiantly talking back...
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