The Protest In Our Poetry by: Sahid Kanu Poem by Sahid Alhaji Kanu

We write with fire on trembling page,
Ink born of sorrow, voice of rage.
No need for fists when words ignite—
Our verses march, our stanzas fight,

Each line a banner, raised and bold,
Against the silence bought and sold.
Each rhyme a shout that cracks the sky,
A truth too loud to pass us by.

We speak for those who can't be heard,
We build resistance word by word.
Where systems fail and power blinds,
Our meter holds the rebel's minds.

This isn't art for art alone—
It's echoes carved in blood and bone.
A cry for change, a call to see
The protest pulsing under we,

We do not whisper when we write—
our pens are drums, our pain is light.
We scribble justice into flame,
and turn each verse into a name.

We write for freedom not yet found,
for voices buried underground.
Our syllables, like chains unbound,
turn silence into marching sound.

The protest in our poetry
is not just rage—it's prophecy.
It's futures drawn in shattered glass,
it's hope that won't let hatred pass.

So when you read, don't read to rest—
read like the fire's in your chest.
This ink is not for peace alone—
it's revolution carved in tone.