I am singing a song that can only be born after losing a country.

—Joy Harjo
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[Urgent]

This cannot fit into a poem.

This should be a political pamphlet.
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[Scandalous]

This should be a white paper.
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[Chilling]

This should be the slogan on all our streets.
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[Shameful]

This is apartheid. Who will boycott the boycotters? 
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[Horror]

This should be an HRW-Amnesty International report.
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[Heartbreaking]

This should be a thoroughly researched documentary film.
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[Disturbing]

This should be a long-read in The New York Times.
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[Haunting]

History will never absolve us.

Their long march home is a story to be told to our future generations.
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[Oppressive]

When will our political class break its silence?
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[Depressing]

When will all the progressive forces unite against Hindutva fascists?
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[Outrageous]

Why does the state police women’s bodies with impunity?
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[Devastating]

Such sacrifice!

When will we have our revolution?


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[Warning]

The price will always be paid in blood.
What is the use of a poem in this season of hate?

The regular cliches: A desperate cry for help,

an act of witness, a scream into the void? 
What is the use of a poet in a season of bloodshed?
Tell me, dear ones.

Is she the one who grieves?
Is she the one who guards the embers

of a people’s rage? 
Is she the one who mirrors

your shattered heart? 
Or, is she the one

who speaks to show

she is not yet dead?