We asked
Stood still
Arms akimbo
We asked
What can we do?
To still the bloodshed
Splashing on our clean hands
Gushing from necks that once held heads
Sprinkling, staining the dark nights deep red
We sat
We sat ramrod straight
In the safety of our houses
Disbelief in our eyes
Hands unconsciously travelled
Between chin and head
Sporadic tears streamed down our faces
As we watched old women on flat screen TVs
Holding the same hopeless pose
Tears of fear crawling down wrinkled cheeks
We asked
What can we do?
We sat
With our hands on our laps
While others did something
Writers were busy writing
Poets wrote prose requiring no rhyme
Songs of courage were sang
Placards echoed with loud cries
And those who were ready to die
For freedom lifted her banner high
PoP © 6 June 07
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1 comment:
what kind of freedom can we have when we cannot even have solution to the problems that goes on around us. Its like being trapped in a prison of freedom.
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