Remembering the start of the Arab Spring
The Revolution by Fiona
Raise the flag! We the people, their paper thin hostages,
but when ignited we burn furiously, the heat drying ever tear.
Our message is reborn in you and you now have no fear.
Bouazizi, Said, Khateeb are our names,
now they are yours, rise up from our flames
The sky slowly folds away its scalding wings,
casting shadows on forgotten conquests by archaic kings.
Hunched over bone and flesh,
first right then left.
Your dusty palms pleading,
your scars of freedom bleeding.
The lines tell a hard story.
Each jagged routes misplaced glory.
A story of words painted green with anticipation,
a story of laws built upon the corpses of domination.
You shake these hands with your brothers while your leaders shake hands with theirs,
God overlooks and remembers while they plan and prepare.
The fire from above nervously darkens where you stand.
This country your grave, the people your sand.
You have looked death in the eye,
and you are not afraid to die.
Screams hang thick through the blackness of the evening night,
"God is Great! Tonight we fight!"
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