Who, if not I, shall speak when the lights go off,
When the doors of courage are shut,
And when our mothers unveil their scars;
When the angst of my past matches yours,
When we know in hours of peace a song must be sung,
And when our fathers rob our poems to gift them to their sons;
Who, if not us, will scream to awaken dreams of the dead
When the land burns our passion, and the skies are dry,
When swords must be raised, while our chests are being slit in two;
Who, if not us, shall bring out our pens and mark tyrants in red till the soil soaks our sweat and their skins are bare of bones;
Who, if not you, shall recite to me of faith, when I run my feet to dust;
And who, if not I,
Shall invite you to write of freedom, before it departs.
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