Cleo 1d

If I cannot sing then I won’t.
It is bad to ignore the rules.
I am good so I must follow the rules.

If I cannot sing then I will open my mouth only to breath.
After all, I must breath to live.
I am not doing anything wrong.
I am not a criminal.

If I cannot sing then I will speak.
Conversation with others
With myself
With the moon
Speaking does a person good.

If I cannot sing then I will hum.
This is not at all like singing.
I need not even open my mouth.
I just have this song replaying in my head
And I must hum
But I will not sing.
I love this song...

If I cannot sing then I will listen to others sing
After all, it’s their downfall
Not mine.
I’m just someone in the background
mouthing the words

If I cannot sing.. why can’t I sing?
I want to sing
I feel it is right to sing
But I know I mustn’t.
But why?

If I cannot sing I will do so behind closed doors.
It’s not a crime if no one sees it.
I sing for hours.
After years of quiet
my voice is hoarse and timid.
But I still sing
And no one can know.

If I cannot sing
Who am I if not a slave
Who are they if not the masters
What is this if not tyranny
I will sing.
I am singing.
I am dead.

If I cannot sing
I will


Learn to sing

The cruelty of our passions
Burnt down into small pieces of ashes
By those who despise us
Even though this very country
Was built on freedom of speech
So although we keep fighting
Hoping to win this battle
Between all odds
We’ll keep attacking
With the power of words
And the power of the human soul
We’ll raise hell if we have to
For that is who we are
We are the brilliant,
The omnipotent,
The spontaneous
Hell Raisers

joel jokonia Nov 2

i tell my story in two phrases

        "rebel son,
         caring father"

Mar Somera Oct 26

Let it be my quiet rebellion to keep loving a world that doesn't have space in it for loving.

I was barely even,
From Northern India,my mum's little one,
A child bride,
My husband's family rules I had to abide.
Godnas (tattoos) were mandatory for married women,
So several days after the wedding
An elderly lady came to brand me alone,
Her tool, a needle,she would heat with fire,
Burn my skin and fill with colour pigment on and on she would not tire,
No anaesthetic  to numb the pain,
No cream to heal the skin.
I had several tattoos,
Subjugated  without any ados.
Now, my daughter is a different version,
She is a rebellion,
Refused to have the tattoos done,
I supported her and she won.

Rural Indian women of certain tribes had to be tattooed. It was compulsory or they would be treated as impure.
Ash Slade Sep 30

all that's gotten is seen
don't gauge I'm gonna flip-flop
I say it brusque
I'll furnish it bald
backers aren't closely precise
don't tell me no whoppers
I'm not gonna gnaw
people take it
they grasp
drag down
jolts me askew
people acting
like foremen
on top of
record breaking
I'll put'em in their place
wipe cackled sneer
off face
go along
cover steps
handed over or granted
speeds quickly 'round
don't tell me how to sojourn
it'll hold up
so sort out
to trek down
walk warily
or you'll slip up

A work in progress. There's all types of brands, customers, and consumption.
Brent Kincaid Sep 27

Keep singing your song!
Some may not like it
But nobody else can do it.
You are the singer, sing!
Do it loud and proud,
Your own thing. Sing!

And if they sing along
Then you’re not doing
Anything wrong. It’s your song.
And they can go right along
Or find another tune to sing
One that brings them as much
As your song brings you.
They joy will shine right through.

The story is in the lyric
Sometimes it is mystic
But singing it out is cathartic
It lets the music out of you.
There’s nothing better to do
Than to hear your own music;
Know it’s fantastic
Realistic, authentic.

Then be brave enough to share,
Let your song out into the air.
Bounce your sound off walls
And if people hear you at all
Maybe they will want to do
Exactly the same as you, too,
And keep on singing their song.
How can that ever be wrong?
Keep on singing your song!

Peter Balkus Sep 26

When people have nothing to lose,
they take to the street,
joined by others who have nothing too.
They march on, and shout,
they spill their anger out
on those who have more than them.

Life is not fair,
it makes them crawl, hungry,
couldn't afford the food,
living like rats, renting a box room
or one bedroom flat,
while having three kids, or four, or more
when the government blames it on them,
saying it's their fault.

Squeazed on the train, on the bus,
like a cattle, overworking-class, suffocating,
under ground
like miners in the mine,
like rats in the spout, trying to make it
to the light.

People take on the street,
when they have nothing to eat
and the shopping windows laugh at them
with expensive clothes and designer bags,
when they can't afford a fish and chips,
it laughs at them, from behind the glass,
and they smash the glass, they have no choice,
they smash the glass, invisible glass,
dividing them from them,
at stone's throw is their paradise.

They loot the place,
they have no choice,
for if ones have more and more
others have less and less
and less.

Next page