A sunny autumns day in October
The gentle whistle of the mornings breeze
The ground camouflaged with orange and brown leaves.
The sound of the protesters marching in masses,
Their thunderous chants echoing in the streets
Vehicles halted, journeys delay, it’s the start of a revolution.
No time to play.
The rising Phoenix pales in comparison
To the to the people’s voices.
Voices that have been ostracized
Voices that have been condemned
Voices that have been muted
But they stand triumphant
Minutes and hours pass by
As the protesters are steadfast in their cry,
Armed with posters and banners and megaphones too
To fight for their rights and live as they choose.
They imagine a life without fear of having a skin colour,
A certain religion or shaming a culture.
So, they march and march and march onwards,
For the future generations, their children unborn.
Determination painting their faces all around,
The revolution is here, and they are not backing down.