The Beginning

We marched as if our lives depended on it.

We marched together, the young and the old,

The Monks, the Buddhists,

The Fire-fighters and Teachers;

And believe me it seemed

The Police too walked with us.

Marching for the poor, for the weak,

For the frail, for all

Condemned to live in Austerity’s gaol

Of hunger and cold.

A sea unstoppable, in our thousands we marched

Deep into the dark heart of the City,

Where temples to Mammon rose up around,

Like a forest of stone.

Do you not see

How their roots go a long way down?

The rot goes a long way down.

The Capitol was breached;

It was cleansed with our tide,

Our footsteps on The Strand.

Marching down Fleet Street;

The echoes of History

In the alleys of urchins,

Past the dead eyes of Wellington,

The blind stare of Nelson,

The stone faces of those who guard the elected elite.

Upon pavements, the perfumed ones

Sidled past, staring.

Was that fear in their eyes?

Or just glazed indifference?

I saw the fires they feared, the masked revellers,

Carnival flares burning brightly,

Hearts beating faster,

Shouts growing louder.

We do not believe in your authority.

We believe in communities;

We believe in togetherness;

We believe in kindness and in compassion.

On that day one quarter of a million,

Marched together as if all our lives depended upon it.

For we are many; and you are few.

And this is just the beginning.

© Lisa Rossetti June 2015

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