Words by: Nel Simon Lapore
Behold, the raw squeals that chime in the angered skies—
Do your ears not know?
Oh, they passion empathetically unrepressed —battling the scenes of imbalance
Believer in rights, voicing sentiments of youth
Promise-driven to emphasize; the duty of sensitivity we should have for each other
An activist rising—unseated—to do something for me and you
They’ve found themselves—emerged with an outlet that narrates advocacies
Taught by activism to stimulate convoluted conversations
Materializing mere murmurs to loud words unheard untouched
An activist advocate towards justice for all us
Their collective identity propels the banners
On cardboard plaques waving in crooked fonts
Dripping paint at their hands, waiting to utter
The intent of freedom and wants
The awakened protesters, old and new
A striving force with such tireless pursuit
For what we should stand for and what we should do
Scared, familiar are they of the fear that comes with
With the commitment of constructing conversations with the opposition
But their convictions will remain with acts they did
That woke up even a fragment of this generation
Such as exhaling screams, stressing for a history that never shall be forgotten
We must then—never forget, never again
Slamming the effigy of a dictator in blood—
For our people do not deserve leaders of such filth and muck
You see,
The activists have burnt and twisted their insides—screaming the names of liars and thieves
Those gold-painted empty-promise-sayers flaunting their authority
Oh, how they’ve fought for—
these crops being pressed upon the earth, echoing a sadder narrative of injustice
Labor-struggled by our poor sun-drenched farmers, forgotten in our land
Advocate then for the right apportion of lands to the them who sweat penniless in abhorrent iniquity
To the nation’s givers, workers, men and women, deceived tirelessly
The differences of each one declare the soul’s intent
How they’ve braved prejudice from different lips
Twisted their bodies to stand, though bent
See how they have shown such resistance?
They’ve fought in loudness though still difficult to be heard
Reaching genuinely at anyone they can
At this convoluted system of power and words
The noble movement, refuses to halt such plans
Count, five minutes, walk and wave the picket line—maybe shout
They’re working with numbers and they’re working with time
Here to persuade, never just tip-toeing about
Standing again, inviting you too;
Support the strike, support the strike
Oh, the loudness is eerie now, the genocide wickedly remains
Like a thundering evil crumbled harshly so from ash to bone
Count, two million Palestinians, dying on their own
Of an ethnic cleansing—
terrified
starving
suffering
Do your ears not know?
The fight continues until the lungs of these breathless are filled
Until the lips of blasphemy are sealed
Until each skin and eyes are recognized
In any form of color or shade
Until each and every single lie
Has wilted and transformed into a true promise made
As the activists have marched—you too may advance
Raise your voices, cry in protest
—Call out in chorus,
“From the River to the Sea
Palestine will be free!”