Bahraini Unity

Huge metal cannisters tilt coffee into tin cups,
the air filled with the smell of dissent,
the crowd chanting as three men ascend
and take the stage of a stolen car's roof
a Toyota Corolla from Saudi, taken that day.

Women and children sit hopeful round campfires,
their husbands networking, trying to solve
this puzzle before them, intrinsic and flawed,
this impulsive revolution, clinging to abandoned
hope, screaming for change, the young ones rage.

The night descends into tragedy around eleven,
as police arrive, and though Shia, panic,
opening fire at the peak of the disorder
which never reached far above an uproar
and no violence incited the gunfire which followed.

And mourning the contents of the coffins next day,
thousands gathered to weep for lost comrades,
their tears condensing into stormclouds over Bahrain
and to the roundabout came the cry, a public display,
time to show the world this nation's dismay.

And soon the gazebos and marquees and tee-pee like tents
are gathered together in unity around one set of flames,
objectives decided by tribal elders, and Bahraini Unity
decided to be the primal objective, a war
against the government, for the People, and no-one else.