Wake up this morning
listening
for birds to twitter
I hear the cacophony of guns
and the cry of anger
and rich expletives
bellowing from the bowels of hate
and the whack of batons
thumping flesh
fumigating in blood
I lift my arms not with glee
but to gyrate in protest
a street fighter
with bricks and stones
catapulting to break some bones
a dance forever
for the revolution.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem