We are filled with pain and crushed bones

We fall under
tanks that do not stop
not for screams of pain, or skin and bone

not for children or babies
old women who cannot run fast enough
to outrun
tonnes of steel

not for men who
had they turned
one degree,
would have seen
death so wide and so forceful
that there was no way to run
and hide

there are wounds that will not go away
broken bones that cannot heal
not when all that they hold
begins to fall out
and spill onto
the ground

not when a tank runs over a live body
and in 5 short seconds
what was once alive is
now
dead

we hope

because their bones
have bent in ways
we did not think possible

have cracked and proven brittle
easy to snap, to crush
like it was nothing.

Like it wasn’t a father who was dying
or a son who’s mother
would scream, hit her face, to feel pain
but feels nothing
nothing

knowing

that a tank
hundreds of thousands of pounds
of weight

fell, angonizingly slow,
covering an entire body
with its wheels.

No, bone should not break
that easily.

Hearts should not feel
cracked
like our chests have caved in
on themslves
and words come out

split in two

part word, part nothing that the human ear
can understand.

No, there are wounds here
that will never
heal

there is resolve here
that cannot be broken

the resolve of men and women
wills written
and ready

saying

we would rather die
for these streets, these cities,
these people

than to live
in ways where

life is worth
a cracked skull
under a heavy tank

and nothing

more.