Published in Countercurrent
Children in unison rise
Crying for the ultimate reprise.
Bus fares hike
Water jets strike
Murderers walk free
The land is no longer safe
The world round
In anger and unrest
Where do they stand?
Why have they become the voice of
The angry clans?
Why is it they scream
In angst against the regime?
Why is it they burn?
Why is it they turn?
Why is it they beat
A policeman on the street?
Where are the days
When children played with sunshine and laughter?
Butterflies flutter near the green riverside.
Hopscotch. Hop, hop and stop!
Where is the song on the young man’s lip?
Where is the hope in their heart of eternal youth?
Why is it they step on their graves
Like old men with hopeless glass torn eyes?
Torn — broken by vassals of angry putrid protest
Stale with anger, bloody with hate —