By Chidi Anthony Opara
We are pretend revolutionaries.
In silence
We watch our world whirl
In the swirl of sin.
Our minstrels
Stare at the audience,
Their instruments mute.
We are like woodpeckers
That stare in awe at tree trunks,
We are like lions
That mew like house cats.
We are saints
In consort with sinners.
We are pretend revolutionaries
Cocooned in the comfort of cowardice,
We whisper to ourselves;
"The revolution may be tomorrow".
Tomorrow,
The real revolutionaries will be born
And we,
The pretend revolutionaries
Will be buried
In the cemetery of cowards.
The revolution will be tomorrow.
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