Slaves of wages for generations
long forgotten in history’s screenplay.
Each hand for a moment has held
the torch.
The people are waiting in lines.
All toilers have resisted.
All skins have felt the blaze of blood.
The people are waiting in lines.
While trash still clutters the streets,
while starving stomachs
roam like rabid dogs.
The people are waiting in lines.
Our tears have been cleaved
and parceled,
sold like floodplain to the blind
by corporate politicians,
while the people are waiting in lines.
We are lured to live among the cushions,
to rest here where the river rises.
No markets can be called free
while hosting inequality.
The people are waiting in lines.
We medicate to escape,
numbing to the barbarization.
No economy can be called just
without democracy.
The people are waiting in lines.
We shall watch for clues.
We will know the signs.
Every torch shall rise.
The people are waiting in lines.