- Sun dried sweat plastered on our faces
- Cool breeze offsetting – the tension
- Blaring sirens
- And
- Roaring voices
- The fate of the movement – in our hands
- Projectiles landing and scrapping the oppressors
- All odd a sudden – A loud pop
- Echoed in the streets
- We all dropped to our knees
- We don’t know defeat
By: Charles Barjon
1 Comment »