Those Rising Fists: A Poem on Resistance and Resilience in the Face of Depression

[Agnes Cecile]

Those Rising Fists

Like flowers blooming

from cracks in the concrete

a turbulent revolt is looming

as slowly, they rise


In the mire of the night

they close

a rose

clenching finger-petals tight

and as darkness stalks the light

they rage, they fight,

they rise

Now the storm winds they roar

and the roots dig into the core


– a dead weight almost too much to bear

as they beat against the heavy air

In defiance of demise,

in revolt, they rise

They will not wither,

in the cold or the howling winds

Even in this despair’s weather

they rise

For those rising fists

are at their strongest

and those soaring voices

at their loudest

when the arms are trembling

and the voices are shaking

but still,


they rise.

Raees Noorbhai 

When injustice is built into the framework of the order, the only way to live nobly is to live in a state of revolt. For some of us, however, this personalisation of perpetual revolt is not a choice. For many, the dawn of each day carries with it a certain darkness. The mere act of living becomes an act of defiance against the paradoxical gravity of emptiness. For while we rage against the injustice around us, confronting the cold machinery of tyranny, a struggle persists within us. To battle the dead weight of depression while seeking to dismantle the structures of oppression is to wage a war on two fronts. 

Indeed, countless words upon countless pages cannot so eloquently speak of this struggle as the patches where the paper has hardened and the ink has run. However, there is a measure of solace and redemption in the breaking of silences. To speak one’s truth is an act of resistance in a world where the existence of this internal war is too frequently erased. This poem, therefore, bears witness to the gruelling battle against depression and honours the bravery of those who continue to march onward through the night.


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