History of Sorts

Behind the star, a name, a face,
A heart that beats in a hidden space,
A soul that dreams, that laughs, that cries,
But now wears pain in a thin disguise.

The yellow cloth, a brand of shame,
Imposed on lives who bear no blame.
Once free to wander, speak, and stand,
Now bound by hate’s unjust command.

A thread of gold, a weight of stone,
A symbol meant to break the bone,
Yet strength arose behind each thread,
In every step, though, fear was spread.

Behind the star, a silent prayer,
For hope to rise, for love to care,
For freedom’s light to pierce the night,
For wrong to yield to what is right.

But still, they stood, their spirits whole,
With every stitch, a burning soul,
That no decree, no mark, no scar
It could dim the fire behind the star.

So may we remember, may we see,
The dignity in bravery,
For behind the star, beneath the pain,
Lies courage that forever will remain.