the dissenter

this is my country, my dirt,

my sanity and my humanity,

that always comes first.

 

this is my country, my faith

and to accept it blindly,

I can not take.

 

this is my country, my lover,

my youth, my time, my purity,

 

to just love

 

something as it is, within my fists,

 

within my eyes, within my soulless, ruthless

life,

as this dissent, this ascent, is my right,

my fight,

my desire for truth

 

and justice.

 

And now I am quiet, very quiet,

as you bind my hands and kick my face.

And I laugh, I laugh again, as it is my riot

of love,

against the insecurities of the human race.

 

to accept you is only to defy you later,

mr. power-keeper,

said the rebel laughing under the boot,

crushing his skull but not his smile.

 

religion has no claim over my faith,

my friend, he said, as they called him:

terrorist, you should all be killed,

 

apostate, you should be skinned alive.

 

And this is my country, this is my dirt,

he says as he licks the mud and spits out blood.

 

to love my country on lies

and denial, is not love,

and is not even my country.

 

to love blindly is not love,

and is not a demand you can make of me.

 

you, the caretakers of the meaning of life,

lover,

you taught me truth.

 

this is my fate,  my destiny,

and you just wish to shoot me,

 

you, mr. power-keeper,

you kiss the lips of your revolver,

and you put it against my temple,

 

‘to love the truth and the love within it,’

 

said the rebel laughing under the boot,

crushing his skull but not his spirit.

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