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Oh, how we revolt
in the skies!
Oh, how we revolt to
celebrate the city
where men eat bombs,
from their mothers' wombs.
Oh, how I revolt to
sing the songs of our forefathers,
only for them to get furious by the tune.
Boomerangs, reversed hierarchies,
Dante's Inferno―
I revolt, only to stumble upon the 5th circle.
Oh, how I revolt to dance to the beats of torment.
As the night falls, as we raise our proud chins,
yet slashed by the atrocious
as Martha Tabram in a slum of the East End,
yet still killed with 39 stabs at dawn.
Oh, how I revolt to save the place
of our childhood,
where I have heard the stories of heroism.
Oh, how they revolt in this soil
that has witnessed misuse of Thy Name
Of the fear of Your wrath,
Of Your stigmata,
yet do not confine to decency.
Oh, how I resign with my white flag,
Sinking as I revolt for a very long time―
from those clean rugs I had used to wipe my sweat and tears
to spilled blood on the cream wall.
Oh, how they revolt, as I witness;
I hide, as lints cling to my Blouson jacket,
Only to deform as I embrace my own butcher.
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