Every generation is told to move on, but the ground remembers. Where blood fell unjustly, the soil carries a record no scroll can erase.

We are taught to forget what the earth cannot. The cries of the buried still hum beneath sacred mountains, market squares, and courthouses. The bones of the innocent vibrate beneath every civilization built on silence.

Prophets often spoke to heavens. But the oldest prophets listened downward— to tremors, to water, to memory embedded in dust. They knew: justice is not only in the skies, but underfoot.

The earth has long been a witness. To genocide rebranded as conquest. To slavery renamed as obedience. To patriarchy sanctified by temples. It has absorbed every scream that never made it to a pulpit.

Now, it groans. Not just with pain— but with reckoning.

To walk in truth is to walk gently, knowing the ground beneath you is alive with memory.

This scroll is not a warning. It is a map. For those ready to listen—not to gods above, but to the ground that never lies. The curse was not buried. It was planted. And it has taken root where altars were built without justice.

The Earth will not forget. And neither should we.