Poetry Lke Proverb

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