Tag Archives: Rebellion

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.


Oh When We Were Free: An Ode to Freedom of Thought

Freedom, Ann Fogarty

Oh when we were free
to let our thoughts roam
– throw certainty to sea
and plant musings in the mind’s loam.

Oh when we had liberty,
when we had not knotted tongues
to declare the lies of authority
that beat the air from our tired lungs.
Oh when we shunned banality,
when our brains were more than cells,
holding the prisoner of rationality
in nine circles of Dante’s Hell.
Oh, when fetters of fire failed to bind
– the heretic’s truth, under boot and fist.
When the marching orders from the mind
blasphemed bravely: Resist.

Yet unto liberation, powerless we are not,
for ours are first the fetters
and ours are first the knots.
Ours is first the apathy
that our certainty begot.

So victorious must we emerge from this internal war,
before our minds are truly free to wander once more.

Raees Noorbhai

Rebellion is a fire, sparked by the friction between a freedom which dwells deep within us, and a world which abhors it. This poem is an ode to that internal freedom – and a recognition of our power to suffocate it for fear of burning our hands. It is a song of longing, superimposed upon the passage of time, expressed in the language of nostalgia. Nostalgia for a past that perhaps never did exist, but nostalgia nonetheless. It is that internal freedom’s cry of loss, against a world in which conformist society and zealous authorities, religious or otherwise, deem it criminal to think for yourself. In the final stanzas, the poem morphs into a plea to abandon dogma, and embrace the liberating uncertainties of our existence. It becomes an appeal to seize the future and fashion it in the likeness of this idealized past – a past in which we were free. Free to champion heresies. Free to flirt with blasphemy. Free to fearlessly tell our truth. 

A Treason Of Reason: A Poem on Freedom of Thought


Famed martyr of free thought Giordano Bruno

A Treason of Reason

Starved is intellect in society

where none thinks but all know-

a mindless mantra of archaic ideas

in these great chambers of echo


Rampant runs a hapless

homogeneity of thought,

as freedom morphs into a conception

by few grasped; by all sought


They wear no chains,

but still are weighed down

For theirs are the shackles they bear

by which they are confined and bound


To ponder, to wonder,

to question, to reason-

Deemed by the state of

the auto-oppressed mind

as unspeakable treason


Now echoes the clatter of shattering  shackles

An end to this cycle of slave-like reliance

as sustained sedition

confronts this witless compliance


Embrace the Insurrection.


Raees Noorbhai