derekpoetrydump | (no subject)

the world is very big and the light is very weak

Somewhere right now someone is singing. Sara is singing as she does her chores, singing a song her mother sang while she mops the floors; Maya is singing to her son as he nurses at her breast and Makysm sings to himself as he counts fighter jets and Rawan sings in a whisper to put little Anas to sleep and someone is singing something in the back of the jeep but it's not Omar, he can't breathe.

And fifty thousand people are singing in the freezing knive-sharp cold as they prepare to fight and Elizabeth is singing in the weak candlelight and they're singing as they lie in the mud of Parliament Square and they're singing in the club as they set light to Ashley's hair and the voices loud and they're fierce and they're strong and they're singing different songs, different songs--

Because they're singing in the barracks as they practice crushing heads and they're singing in the palaces as they dream of spiking Reds and they're singing in the houses where they're so afraid of brown skin but they're singing in the streets we will win we will win; they're singing lullabies to cover aching stomachs in the tents and they're singing hymns in the sewers while they hold their dying friends

And the singing never ends, it never ends, it never ends.