Poem_ Writers in Labour

I flaunt my pen
like jewellery
make love with the paper
give birth to words
nurture every letter with love
feed my emotions onto them

This is my baby that I have given birth to
That will not obey your biased minds
or succumb to your patriarchal edifices

This baby will one day become the fire burning down not your forests
but the pesticide slaying the Pine weevils
that have for long gnawed the mighty plants to death

This baby will one day blow like a storm across your concrete cities
not bringing down structures built with sweat, blood, tears
but become rain wiping away the dirt that has accumulated
on your walls of labour

Born sometimes
with screams, sometimes in silence,
sometimes in combat, sometimes with blood stains.

Pushing it hard, giving birth to words, ideas, thoughts
with the hope of a newborn,
Newborn idea,
A revolution
Writers In Labour at war zones, flooded cities and political turmoil.