Out of the thought cluster
Emerges a solitary word – ‘Why?’
This iron fist is trying to crush my throat,
Trying to smother a burning flame:
They want death.
Deaths of unborn ideas; of freethinkers.
“Poetry will no longer complement action.
It will lead movements.
Poets are going to exist” – said Rimbaud.
But who’s listening?
There’s been a slaughter here:
The unknown farmer, the father, the dissenter.
Who are they trying to fool,
The righteous rights, the ungodly mights?
They got the guns, they got the numbers.
But we got Che, Kafka, Kahlo…
We are an army of Tupac thugs!
We won’t be your cloned slaves.
So up against the wall, motherfucker-
We are bringing drama.
Look beyond the anarchy,
There is a revolution waiting,
A rage brewing steadily in our blood!
Beware of the wrath of the underdog-