I stand next to a fruit cart in Tunisia in the eyes of the vendor
I see a fire
the fire I see
is the same fire in the people
not just one but all the people
all families
all workers
all homeless.
I see the indignity
and the fight for survival.
I pick up an apple
and take a bite into it
and I see the people assemble and I smell the fire of the martyrs as they burn.
The smoke that tears my eyes are the tears of love of life of nation and the freedom from tyranny.
And as the martyrs fire grows those who try to quench it
are engulfed within it for they see and feel the injustice of the drivers of the machine
and they are no longer the fodder that keeps it running
and the burning within
reflect the burning without,
Of those without jobs
of those without homes
of those without anything to loose but the liberty given to them by the forefathers of the nation.
Who also were not afraid
to face the tyrannical
and not afraid to face death
because to face death man must have hope to have hope man
must love,
love is life and sacred to the soul. This is the cycle
from our screaming birth
to the whisper of our last words at death.
Our fore fathers saw the need for a constitution for one and all
and the fruit cart I stood before will Bare the sweet fruit
of a victorious freedom
our nation
our people burn for.
