Making Friends With Your Revolution Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

Making Friends With Your Revolution



Peace asks you why you wait,
for it never waits in times of war.
While death smashes others,
and knocks them down with hatred,
you are called to be friends with your
own revolution.

Change knocks on your door with
furious fists. For the usual tastes
slimy even to the tastebuds in your
brain asking where your revolution is,
for it is called upon to declare war.

In you is a dormant war of peace,
the weapon that brings war to an end,
the weapon which always call on order,
to come into any situation, no matter
how hostile.

Struggle is a word that muddles the puddles,
calling on your thoughts to rise to the war cry,
in this dawn of new things. They are sung with
a tenor from the puddles, that says if it rained
hate, hail and grail, it can rain a rain of contrast,
one called upon by you.

New things stand in your hand, these swords
invisible, that can kill war and doom it to where
it belongs, for we do not fight like soldiers of
old. We are soldiers of the revolution of peace.

Stand you must, even if alone, for peace does
not lean on anything. It is as brave as it is silent.
It refuses to walk in the muddy shoes of killers.
For it was given to me and you, in the stillness
of spirit.

Change is hard in a world where killing is done,
without thinking clearly for anger is a soldier,
as is peace. One wears dirty clothes, the other
none, and so gets more invisible, when people
are down on a bloody pavement, and being
carried out by ambulances.

Soldier of the revolution, stand undefeated,
stand on legs of steal, for revolution boils in you,
making you hot and making you cold, when your
hands sweat for action. It is time to declare the
peace in you, and live it till it spills over.

You know you are full of it, when violence fill
the earth. Your thoughts sing songs with one tune.
It searches everywhere, tunes that ask, where is
peace? Where is love, for we swore to make the
world better.

We swore with our forefingers crossed, with saliva
drooping on them, that we would be one for we
are walking into the oneness of revolution,
in a world where to kill will be death of a soul,
to those who stab and mow others down.

We can win this war. Soldier of the revolution,
we have won this war. We walked into it blindfolded.
We have won it by declaring that our is a war that
was won for it the end, every slate will be clean.

As swords walk in the air, sharp edges up, and slings
are outstretched, war is not Goliath, it is just a machine,
used by those in power, to create more war, while
innocent people die. With my silver tongued self,
shiny sword os the revolution, heath, smooth as always,
I tear strife and bloody war, and throw it to the dogs.

I make friends with my revolution, and declare
that I will fight, till all my muscles, cluster into
knots, for the earth is ours to take, not to give
away. How will they know, there once lived
people like me and you, if we let it go to the
dogs, that tear each other in the name of defending
truths hidden in their own bosoms. Tell me
soldiers of the revolution, that life is about
other truths, so we can write a new truth and
leave the old one in tatters. Yes, it is already
bloody, sick, and worn out. Every liar takes to war,
even if it means stabbing the air, for an accusation
like why it is blowing. Tell me new things soldier,
of the revolution, that tell me peace is around,
waiting and watching, when we will declare it
as the war we hold, see and take, to the tomorrow
I can die for. I hate this killing!

Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: life,war
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