Protest

I have been sad for centuries
My bones, protruding from my skin, ache. 
I wish to lie down in peace
But chaos has taken over my country. 

I open my eyelids and blood comes out
Words have evaporated from my lips,
And when I try to speak 
They paint 'traitor' on my head. 

They ask me 'Where were you?'
In my mother's womb, I try to say.
'Tsk-tsk,' they say and shake their head
'Your sympathy is skewed'.

But I feel everyone's pain, I want to retort. 
My bones ache, remember?
'But you don't chant the slogans
You are not us, you are them.'

With this they perform their ritual
And then birds begin tweeting.
The cacophony of birds increases
Every time I try to protest. 

What they don't know is that I am not alone.
I may be tired and wounded,
But with every drop of blood I shed,
Rises a protester with placard in hand
And determination in their eyes. 
They won't stop fighting for me
I am this country. This country is me.