Our divided voice…
Don't ask me to join the protest
ask me if I have food in my belly
ask me if I have limbs left
to go to the square
I do not have the liver
to digest this emptiness
will you provide snacks
as the fires crack
will you give me water
to kill my rage
how many billboards and placards
will become meat in my pot
and after the teargas,
smoke, bullets and blood
will the food come to table
will the refineries work
like the magic of Saudi Arabia
after the detonation
of songs, sweats and catcalls
will the guarantee of promises
arrive fully, not like palliatives
will my broken bones mend
how many protests will quench
how many seasons of hunger
But who will tell the hunters of our fate to stop...
I hear the whimpers of patriots
I am going to the junction
where the people meet
south east north and west
I will join the protest
armed with a highway of dreams
I will be counted,
a finger in the eye of tyranny
I will be the protest
against the artificial famine
against the leaking purse
and the waste
You will not find me at home
watching Netflix, gwo, gwo, gwo, gwo
or the sorority of rot
I will not watch the revolution on TV
I will not be a remnant of silence
I will be the nurse in the rally
breaking barriers of tribes and faiths
standing, wobbling and stampeding
in brotherhood of new songs
If I lose a breath to the brutal baton
or my bleeding does not stop
may my blood feed the land
But who will tell the hunters of our fate to stop...
Remi Raji
24.07.24