Wherever I go
In this god-forsaken  country,
I hear a call
To break the silence
To break free from the robbers
To break free from the liars
To bring an earthquake
To bring a transformation.
Again in the darkness
Of manipulation,
Main-stream-media
Spews us into lines
Penned by the liberal elite
A nation at its feet.
Light your torch
Lift the whole mountain
On the palm of your hand
Make them understand.
See! innumerable small lamps are ours
As we head towards a shore in a storm
Where people just about manage, make do
The government attacks: the poor
The old, the sick
Promises are burnt
We do not ask for sickly affection,
Just the unvarnished truth.
Pen, write about this terrible beauty
Of just about managing,
Of paying your way
No glory today
For these lionesses
Of the flats and families
The earth begins to shake
Pen, write about her glory today:
As her shifts are cut
As her kids skip bog-standard schools
Poets we should lift a storm
Poet, thunder, thunder, thunder!