We, Revolutionaries

08/02/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



The taste of freedom is sweet,

Built on the burnt remains

Of plantations worked by slaves

To profit foreign masters

Who raped the land

And the women enslaved

By virtue of their colour,

Deemed less than human,

Never equal,

A commodity to be used

And abused

Until death did take them

By violence or disease.



The taste of freedom is sweet

In comparison to the smell of burning flesh,

The metallic tang of blood

From beatings and whippings

Meant to keep the downtrodden in line

But instead instilling a conviction

That the caged would one day soar

And be masters of their own domain,

Not buying their freedoms

From owners of human flesh

Or inheriting their freedom

From fathers engaged in brutality

While mothers remained bound.



The taste of freedom is sweet,

Cut from the hatred and distrust

Of so many generations

From so many castes

At each other’s throats

For no good reason

Save selfishness and greed,

And a persecution

Based on perceived inferiority –

That some could not rule themselves,

And lacked the ability

To achieve their own freedom

Despite evidence to the contrary.



The taste of freedom is sweet,

And a pleasure to enlightened tongues,

Bridging the divide

Between the haves and the have nots,

But it is hard fought reward

For those who battled

Ambiguous declarations

Made by distant rulers

With no care for its far-flung subjects

Nor their subjugated army of workers

Poised for a different future

Than that faced by their fathers

And feared by their mothers.



The taste of freedom is sweet

Created out of the impending storm

That came to fruition late one night

As the thunder rolled in

And lightning sparked the sky

With violence begetting violence,

The tables turned,

The oppressed rising

To take the means of their oppression

And seek revenge

On their oppressors

To the same extent as that violence

Was waged against them for so long.



The taste of freedom is sweet,

Drawn from the conflict

Between warring nations

Using colonies as pawns

In troubles that don’t involve them

Not for the betterment

Of those who do the fighting

But for the prestige of the elites

In claiming victory

In meaningless squabbles

When those considered less than

Are fighting for their right

To be seen as human beings.



The taste of freedom is sweet,

Without distinction of colour,

And the emancipation of men

Is but the beginning of the story

Because forces pushed and pulled

From all quarters,

Imported leaders vying for control

Of a land not their own

And over a people

Imported to be exploited

For their labour

And for their women

To be misused.



The taste of freedom is sweet,

But cooked among the ashes

Of burning bridges

And smouldering cities,

Scorched earth

And blackened skies,

Coloured by yellow fever,

White supremacy

And black revolt

Against tyranny from afar

Under dictators and demons

Who see colour as a means

Of exerting their control.



The taste of freedom is sweet

But a long time in the making,

Constructed over many years

With blood, sweat and tears

Littering the paths of good intentions

And leaving behind a trail of death

That lives on in the history

Which others fail to learn from

But which established a country

Ruled by its people for its people

Yet brought no end to the turmoil

Faced by the population

In search of that elusive freedom.