I sit here penning poems

whilst my people are dying

dying fighting for a freedom

a freedom they cannot conceive

I sit here littering this paper

with my menial thoughts

whilst my people march on city streets

bloodied hands raise flags for the cause

they’re willing to die as martyrs

a title they’re sure they’ve earned

and I, I just sit here writing poems

wondering why the women must weep

over loved ones who so valiantly

choose to die in hallowed streets