The Boubasa Express: A poem for the martyr who started it all.

“Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive”.  Unfortunately, that line is taken when it comes to trying to express the feelings caused by seeing a whole people rise up, and attempt to forge a new way of living, struggling and fighting together.  Nevertheless, and especially in the light of the west looking for more ways to interfere in the Middle East and North Africa, I wanted to get some thought down on the present situation.  In memory of the revolutions first martyr;

Making its way to the market, crossing deserts, over seas.

Reaching your upturned cart it doesn’t stop or wait for me.

A single women’s fist raised, no policeman here can ban her,

gives your blackened shirt to the crowd; they don’t need any other banner.

There’s a train coming Bouazizi, lift your head off the ground and see,

there’s a train coming Bouazizi and I’m following;

here me.

A thousand year old dust is kicked up from our graveyard city.

We wont move easily, my sister, it won’t be pretty;

All tyrants have their thugs, cops and secret policeman

but the people won’t back down, if the slums can smell their freedom/

There’s a train coming Bouazizi, lift your head off the ground and see

there’s a train coming Bouazizi and I am following;

here me.

There’s a cache of explosives rigged to explode and a fighter jet mowing them down.

Corpses twitch a spasmodic time to the last dance of this clown.

The scent of jasmine and roses, it’s like a challenge on the desert air;

it demands our love be purified into a noose for the clown to wear.

There’s a train coming Bouazizi, lift your head off the ground and see.

There’s a train coming Bouazizi, I am following;

here me.

The red white and blue of the tear gas meets the cold red and white of the crowd.

The shine of a passport shown to escape, the brilliant white of a shroud.

See when you rip through these men’s dreams, they’ll straight stand up to rebuild them;

with French trained torture squads and American built machine guns.

Arabs like the Nile open up!  Roll them into the sea!

There’s more and more spots opening up; their graves; they’re history.

There’s a train coming Bouazizi, lift your head off the ground and see,

there’s a train coming Bouazizi and I’m following;

We’re following.

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