When the streetlights turn on
And the asphalt is empty
Who has really gotten to go home?
Because while the bodies are no longer present
And the feet no longer march forward
Some hearts still walk to the sounds of sirens
To them, the art of activism
Is the art of survival
Should a lone rabbit cease to worry about the lurking fox
Just because the fox has concealed himself?
There is no better time to worry about the race
As when the commentators have lied about who is in first place
When the squares come down
And the news turns to disturbed illusions of peace
Who has really gotten to go home?
While some dance the night away,
Feet tap tap tapping on the graves of those in which this world has been stolen,
Others worry about when their time to be stolen from will come
Because to them,
Such a turbulent movement had been nothing but a waiting game
Wait wait waiting
They tell us peace is long and grueling
That it is okay to sit and rest for a while
But is a butterfly truly resting in the spider’s web that binds his wings?
When the violence turns to the same old, same old
And the lost lives turns to trivial dinner talk
When women become catchphrases and symbols
As easily recited as ‘Marcia, Marcia, Marcia’
Who has really gotten to go home?
For it cannot be the children whose parents will be locked away like animals
Or the children whose parents will never grace the earth again- justice never served
And it cannot be the adults who must continue to fight just for a place to participate in a show of hands
No, it cannot be them.
They must continue to fight.
And it will take them all of their time.
So when the streetlights turn on
And the feet no longer march the asphalt
who has gotten to go home?
Because while the rabbit holds his breath another day,
The white fox gets to dance
And he gets to dance
And he gets to dance
