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Poetry Chaenge 3 Dear readers,The Human Rights Defenders Poetry Challenge was organised to celebrate artists and activists around the world who continued to address key issues faced by human rights defenders and their communities even through extreme challenging conditions of the Covid-19 pandemic. When the rest of the world came to a halt, human rights defenders kept moving, acted in solidarity of people and communities who were under threat as they protected and fought for their rights. To show our solidarity and support, this poetry challenge was one of the ways we continued to #StayWithDefenders. It is important for Protection International together with our partners from ProtectDefenders.eu and from The University of York to celebrate artists and activists who use poetry as a way to expose injustices, express resistance, speak truth to power, inspire hope, and ght for transformational social change.Social change in itself is a living form of art. It constantly shifts. It evolves with each new generation giving birth to a plethora of vibrant ideas, capturing key issues and problems, drawing solutions and alternatives….expressing them through art. Using art as a form of expression to challenge prevalent systemic problems that continue to undermine and disempower human rights defenders is a powerful tool. Artists around the world are expressing their deep thoughts when it comes to ghting injustices and performing acts of resistance. Poetry has become a uniting force between art and social change. Therefore, it only makes sense to celebrate human rights defenders (HRDs) and uplift the voices of HRDs through art, and in this case, through poetry. By the power of our words and the signicance of our actions, the human rights movement has continued to grow over the years. Within this book of poems, you will get to know the stories of 32 artists from 20 different countries, who continue to contribute to this movement towards greater peace, equality and justice for all. This initiative has been an impressive collaborative effort between our three organisations, and after many months of hard work we are very pleased to present this book of poems. We would like to thank all those who have contributed to making this such a success, with special thanks to all the HRDs who submitted poems and shared their stories with us. We hear you, we stand with you and we support you. We stay with defenders.Mae OcampoExecutive DirectorProtection International

 ,4Poetry Cha engeAcknowledgmentsWe would like to express our thanks for all those that submitted poems to this poetry challenge. In particular,we would like to thank all those that made this initiative possible:To all Protection International staff who contributed to making this collection of poems possible. In particular, to those who played a key role in making this project a success: Anastasia Oiro, Carla Miranda,Carolina Garzón, Chelsy Gomez, Emily Humphreys, Iria Castro, Jehoshaphat Sagero, Kanchana Di-ut, Marjorie Unal,Marta Peiro, Mae Ocampo, Mauricio Angel, Mercy Chepnge’noh, Sam Maina, Tommaso Ripani, Susana Torres.To our expert judges who supported the scoring of poems in the various languages:French to English translation by: Frederic AudebrandPortuguese to English translation by: Alda Luiza de Lima FerreiraSpanish to English translation by: Gabriela Ramirez-Chavez and Whitney DeVosSwahili to English translation by: Angelica Mulokozi ChristinThai to English translation by: Peera SongkünnathamEnglish poems: Henry RabyFrench poems: Thalie EnvoléePortuguese poems: Maria Amália SouzaSpanish poems: Rosa ChávezSwahili poems: Guillaume BisimwaThai poems: Ida AroonwongTo our professional poetry translators, with a special thanks to Frederic for his generosity and solidarity with the human rights movement:With the Support of:SIDA and Open Society FoundationsThe HRDs Poetry Challenge was elaborated by:Meredith Veit, Pippa Cooper, Javier Roura Blanco and Marie Le Henaff.Graphic design, layout, artwork, animation and illustrations by:Aitor Garcia

Poetry Chaenge 5 Launched in 2021, the Human Rights Defenders Poetry Challenge is meant to honour those who have steadfastly continued their work, even amidst repressive and incredibly unpredictable circumstances. We purposefully opened up our call for poems in six different languages –English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, Swahili and Thai– so that more human rights defenders (HRDs) would have the ability to express themselves and communicate to the international community in their own language and voice.We received a total of 438 poems coming from artists and activists representing over 58 countries around the world –from Cameroon to Cuba, from Ecuador to Eswatini, from Peru to the Philippines–. We were so impressed by the talent, creativity and bravery of all those who sent us submissions. It is not always easy to present your artwork to others, especially when it touches on such personal and pressing matters. After multiple rounds of review, including scoring from our external expert poetry judges, the top 5 poems in each language were chosen for publishing and professional poetry translation. These top 30 poems, with a few extra pieces from our expert judges, constitute the following pages of this book. With the help of many people from our respective organisations, we put a great deal of effort and care into bringing you a collection of poems that highlights a diversity of perspectives from HRDs around the world. Within these pages, you will hear from HRDs who are working with youth, environmental HRDs, HRDs living with disabilities, HRDs who are teachers, women HRDs and HRDs who were formerly incarcerated. They each have important stories to tell, and these poems are a only peak into the impactful work that they do.Art not only helps us to interpret the world around us, but it also provides us with a creativeoutlet for self-reection. Poetry, in particular, offers us a way to empathise and make connections with one another on a deeper level. Through poems, we can pay homage andspeak to the defenders who came before us, we can more creatively address the injustices of today and reimagine what we want our societies to look like tomorrow. As poet, feminist and activist Audre Lorde has explained: “Poetry is not only dream and vision; it is the skeletonarchitecture of our lives. It lays the foundations for a future of change, a bridge across our fears of what has never been before.”When reading this collection of poems, and hearing the voices of the authors, we hope that you feel connected to these defenders and their work. We encourage you to think about your role in the human rights movement, and the importance of the right to defend human rights for achieving social change. And, of course, we hope you enjoy their amazing poems!“Poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence.”-- Audre Lorde

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8Poetry Cha engeDisclaimerThe content of this booklet does not necessarily represent the position of Protection International, ProtectDefenders.eu, the University of York or the af liated donor institutions. Neither the persons who have written this work nor the publishers can guarantee that the information in it is free of error, and therefore cannot be held responsible for the booklet’s contents. Creative CommonsExcept where otherwise noted, this work is licensed under: www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/Any use of the poems must be accompanied by the accreditation of the author. Any use of the English translation of the poems must be accompanied by the accreditation of the author and translator, when applicable. The rights of the poems remain shared between the organisers (under limited circumstances) and the author, and they may not be reused for any purposes linked to  nancial gain without the explicit consent of the author. ISBN: 978-2-930539-93-5 9EAN: 9782930539935This publication has been produced with the assistance of the European Union. The contents of this publication are the sole responsibility of the authors and can in no way be taken to re ect the views of the European Union.

Poetry Chaenge 9 Maria Amalia Souza is the founder and director of strategic development for Fundo Casa Socioambiental in Brazil. With over 35 years of experience, she is specialized in designing strategies that assure philanthropic resources reach the most excluded grassroots social and environmental justice groups working in the Global South. She is part of the Human Rights Funders Network Steering Committee and co-founder of the Brazil Philanthropy Network for Social Justice. Amalia has mentored seven new Global South national funds and regularly writes articles and blogs for specialized philanthropic publications as Alliance Magazine, WINGS Worldwide Initiative for Grantmakers Support, among others.Hailing from York in the United Kingdom, Henry Raby is a punk poet and gig promoter. His work has been described as playful, highly-charged and passionate. He has performed at music, arts and literature festivals across the UK, including Edinburgh Fringe, Deer Shed, Latitude and Boomtown Fair. Henry has been published by Burning Eye Books and co-runs the York spoken word organisation Say Owt. He co-hosts the Vandal Factory podcast on East Leeds FM, which highlights the magic moments where art and activism meet.Rosa Chávez is a poet, artist and educator of Maya K’iche’ Kaqchiquel origin. She has published the poems Casa Solitaria, Piedra Abaj’, El corazón de la piedra, Quitapenas, AWAS Secretos para Cura, and Fanzine Abya Yala. She has also ventured into theater, performance, video and sound experimentation projects. She is currently coordinator of the Movimiento Poético Mundial WPM (WPM World Poetry Movement) in Guatemala and a member of Just Associates (JASS). Her work has been widely anthologized and translated into English, French, Norwegian, German, and Hungarian, among others.Guillaume Bisimwa is the director of the Amani Festival, a creative ecosystem that aims to promote peace, culture and peaceful cohabitation in Eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo. He is also a member of the board of directors of the Foyer Culturel de Goma, a cultural centre for training, learning and discovering art, which has been bringing together several artists from Goma as well as those who live the region since 2011.Ida Aroonwong’s career has evolved at the intersection of literature and human rights activism. She worked for a community rights non-governmental organisation (NGO) in Bangkok, while she was also working as a freelance writer, translator and editor. She now runs a publishing house and is responsible (together with university professor Chalita Budhuwong) for a public fund called Ratsadonprasong (which translates to “the will of the people”) that has been set up as a means to protect the right to justice for political dissidents since the 2014 coup in Thailand.Thalie Envolée is a collective of artists who want to discover and make poetry accessible, while also demystifying it. The group records poetic texts and then distributes them widely online to anywhere in the world, keeping the celebration of poetry alive. This is a free, philanthropic project of the Artaban Company.Maria Amalia SouzaBRAZILHenry RabyUNITED KINGDOMRosa CházGUATEMALAGuiaume Bisimwa DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGOIda AroonwongTHAILANDThalie EnvoléeBELGIUM

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Poetry Cha enge 11Poetry Cha enge 11Stay with the defenders who in heart and in deed speak truth to powerbrave hearts defying powers, pandemic and pestilenceto be a bastion of defense for those whom powers seek to devourgreat unsung heroes standing up for victims of circumstancewhile the world woke up heresomewhere in between apocalypse and the deepsomewhere neither here nor there in a place where men weepwe awoke as in a dream of the night to behold the re ection of fate on a broken mirror tainted visions, blood bath, body count, plight and a pandemic on powerful prowl in corridorAwakeYewande Akinse(NIGERIA)we awoke to slumber we awoke to hounding fear we awoke to slain numbers of persons most dearand we woke up heresomewhere in betweena nightmare, a dream and the severein search of a defender on whom to leanwe found the defenderwho awakes daily on account of goodto build up and support without surrenderthe disenfranchised, the oppressed and those misunderstoodthe world is bearable because they areamidst the great unknownamidst the new normal, the scars and the bizzarewe awake knowing we are not alone.

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She packed quickly, basic items to survive what was aheadThe ahead she never knew, the ahead she had not dreamt ofThe ahead that was thrown to herFor being the wife of a defenderWith love, soft speech and a face full of smile a woman defender soldiers onShe wails, shouts and calls for help but no one respondsShe calls for help not because she was under attack, but because of the pain of a childA child not hers but a child of a womanA child who was being arrested for exercising his freedom of speechA child who could not speak for himselfWith love, soft speech and a face full of smile a woman defender soldiers onShe is beaten, scorned and branded unspoken namesHer children touted by peers and others called namesNames that are meant to dehumanise a human being,Names meant to shame her work and dignityWith love, soft speech and a face full of smile Changing e world wi a smileSalome Nduta(KENYA)a woman defender soldiers onShe ghts for her existence, existence of others and existence of mother natureLoss of shing grounds and livelihoods, the woman defender in Lamu ghtsDestruction of conservation sites, and homesteads, the woman in Nairobi ghtsDestruction of historical and cultural sites, the woman in Nakuru ghtsWith love, soft speech and a face full of smile a woman defender soldiers onThe woman defender has nally woken upShe now embraces what is thrown to her with a smileFor she knows that her voice cannot be swallowed, it is unstoppableWith peers they join hands to speak in one voice because, with love, soft speech and a face full of smile a woman defender will change the world(Dedicated to the Women human rights defenders of the world)Poetry Chaenge 13

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N Dust Wi Sele in EDSANaro(PHILIPPINES)Sprain blooms in my ankle while climbing a footbridge in EDSA. Dust in my lungs The same dust in my mother who held arms with strangers to protect the ballot.As if the revolution happened centuries ago instead of within our lifetimes, Yesterday’s fear fades, must be replaced. My lungs learn to lter this air. DustWoven into each cell in a Filipino body like the silence in resilience. Imprisoned in Industry. Trapped abo in labor, force that’s meant to suppress each warmThroat once made full with the cry and songs for justice now Hoarse after overtimes. Over time, I could feel my mother’s age after her own rage Dies. Our backbones tired from holding ourselves upright, enoughEnough! Tama na! She cried long ago, when I was just a cell inside her womb,Feeling the crowd’s revolt with her muscles, metal in the blood of her raised stEternally owing throughout. Power. In that road, once bedrock: motherland broken by colonizers,Nurtured by our ancestors. Mined and crushed by oppressors,Dearly held together in an activist’s rough palm. Dust gone through Every outspoken then silenced mouth. All my mothers and the mothers I make—Rise. Resist. Rest in protest. To believe is to outlive, that this dust takes shape of land. Yes, we canStand up even with no ground to walk on. *Abo – ashPoetry Chaenge 15

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Poetry Cha enge 17Poetry Cha enge 17The pillars on which we established our nationsCreations of the shadow sides of our mindLove undermined, leaving us blindFor the needs of the human being I call my brotherBut y’all prefer to call the stranger or otherHospitality is our morality Yet we expel refugees seeking humanity Sending them back to see their hopes sink in the seaA modern odyssey, hijrah of broken dreams Yes the struggle is real too in our time What’s going in Israel and Palestine?Apartheid rede ned, though recognized as a crime Just the same old recycling of hateful paradigms Denied their rights like the Uyghur in ChinaOr the Kurds, Rohingya and OneidaBut as long as its not you and me its  ne, huhAs long as there’re no white lives caught up on the line up?No, it’s not okay, so we’ll stayRight at this place, right in this spacePassing our days, praying for graceTill you embrace the humanity in every face- Chorus -What’s the lesson? The take away from the oppression?They question themselves into their destined depressionSuppressing the anger,cause they’ve got to be niceTurn their truth to our lies to be safe with us guysSo don’t protest, no strife, to protect their lifeJust a butter knife in sight, they got twenty- ve to life Inside, or unite with their brothers who diedFor no other reason than standing uprightThat’s the reality, of everyday, you see?But oh it ain’t got nothing to do with you and meWe see all equally, “all lives matter” to meBlinded by the brightness of our white supremacyForgive me for not having stood up in the pastFor allowing this type of hatred to lastRacism  rst-class whilst saying in salah (prayer)That everyone is equal in the face of AllahWe won’t move, we won’t sway We did not come to playDisapprove of the wayThat you treat us like preyBut we will stayAnd we will prayRise up to sayJustice today Looking back, we should have seen it coming indeedAll the hatred, oppression, colonial greedDehumanization, alienationJustice TodayWietske Merison(THE NETHERLANDS)

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Poetry Cha enge 19Poetry Cha enge 19Fearless Fish Out of WaterAsiem Sanyal(INDIA)The setting sun turns sea to goldAs boats return with tales untoldShe watches them as dusk takes holdThe men, they’re back from  shing.The nets are full of  sh todayIn time for ‘morrow’s market dayHer husband smiles, is heard to say“S’more than I could be wishing.”For dinner she lays out the foodTo get which, in the sea she stoodFor hours, gleaning what she couldAnd to the table bringingOctopus, mollusks,  shes smallTo eat at home, to eat them allNone for tomorrow’s market stallUnlike her husband’s killing.This, she knows, can hardly change when‘Fishing’ is solely done by menand ‘gleaning’ is beyond their kenMeant only for the dishing.Though effort, same, she put in tooTo coax hidden creatures into viewKnee-deep in water, toes turning blueThe tip of her spear glistening.She wants the status quo to changeThough this idea may now seem strangeShe’ll  nd a way, somehow arrangeFor gender gap to be shrinking.Others agree, her female friendsPatriarchy must now endA collective will help them defendTheir rights, which have been missing.These defenders will pave the wayBring changes which are here to stay“We’re equal”, they will proudly say,Words like beacons brandishing.

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Soylas manos que dan y que acarician,los labios que besan y que denuncian,los ojos que no miran hacia otro lado,la mejilla que no quiere más bofetadas.Los brazos que sostienen el aire,el sexo que engendra la esperanza,el vientre que alberga la vida,las piernas que huyen del miedo,los pies que corren hacia la libertad. Soyel indígena, la mujer, el negro,el niño, el inmigrante, el refugiado,la prostituta, el esclavo, el condenado, el rebelde, el perseguido, el exiliado…Mi palabra es la bandera de la paz,las alas de la lucha y de la dignidady mi corazón la tierray mi corazón la tierra.Tengo derecho a estar aquí.Teng derech a estar aquíMarisa López Diz(ESPAÑA)I amthe hands that give and caress,the lips that kiss and denounce,the eyes that never look away,the cheek unwilling to suffer another blow. The arms that sustain the wind,the sex that brings forth hope,the womb that shelters life,the legs that  ee from fear,the feet that run toward freedom.I am theindigenouswomanblackchildrefugeeprostituteslaveprisonerinsurgentpersecutedexiled… My words are the  ag of peace,wings of the struggle, wings of dignity.And my heart, the earthAnd my heart, the earth.I have every right to be here.I ha  e right t be hereMarisa López Diz(SPAIN)Poetry Cha enge 21

22 Poetry ChaengeTrecientas nta palabras por la vida (por Berta Cáceres)Chaco de la Pitoreta (HONDURAS)reclaman su bellezael andar libre y digno de cada hilode cada canade cada huella del tiempo.Las ancianas le dieron la sabiduríay su ojos se volvieron luzmechas de ocote alumbrando el senderola oscuridad que deja el modernismo apabullante.Le enseñaron las luciérnagassu brillo y su pispileopero ella aprendió que no se apaganni dejan de alumbrarsolo dejan de hacerlopara ver si los otros y las otrasestán asumiendo su condición de luzsu posibilidad de volar solos.Le dieron la palabray el eco la puso en el mundo.Habla con los ríoszarandea en sus corrientesy ríe como locaella sabe que el agua es viday que vivir en el aguaes permanecer eterna.Le dijeron que era hija de la tierradel maízdel aguaentonces decidió ser tortillabarro para la tinajay ríos abundantes.Los ancianos le dieron la palabra y el bastónlas ancianas le dieron la sabiduríasu don de Matriay ella se asumióse volvió eterna.Le dieron la palabray su voz echó alasy el plumaje de eterno linajebrilló con fuerza.Los ancianos y ancianasvieron en ella la fuerza del bastóny escucharon en ellael eco de la cordilleradesde entonces marca el caminoseñala la rutay su voz canta libertad.No hace mucho que caminapero el imperio le teme a su pisadano hace mucho que hablapero su voz rompe la frontera.Los ancianos le dieron el desafíopero ella - valiente - asumió al puebloy se fue con el pueblopor el pueblohaciendo pueblo.Y se volvió Matriavientre fecundo para la esperanza por la vida.Entonces la Matria parió árbolesy pobló con ellos la cordillerala Matria esparció su semillay la vida resucitó lentamente.Desde que camina sus pasos son comparsascanciones de amorde tierrade origende identidad.Bailan con ella los venadosse agitan las oropéndolasy se regocija en su tonadael tigrillo en la cordillera Lenca.Ella peina su cabello y las hojas de los pinos zumban

They gave her the wordand her voice took ightand that feathered, eternal lineageshone brightly.The elders saw in herthe strength of a wooden caneand heard in herthe echoing mountains. Since that moment, she has forged a pathcleared a wayand her voice sings of freedom.Since she began to marchthe colonizers have feared her footstepsSince she began to speak outher voicehas broken down borders.The elders presented her with the challenge but she—brave as she is—won over the peopleand went with the peoplealongside the peoplebringing together a people. And she became Matria,hope for lifefertile in her womb.Then la Matria brought forth treesand lled the mountain rangela Matria scattered her seedand life, over time, was resurrected. Since she began to walkher steps have been processionslove songs forearthoriginidentity.With her, the deer dancethe oropendolas utter and the tigrillo of the Lenca mountain rangerejoices in her song.She brushes her hairand the pine needles buzz.Thr Hundred and Sixty Words in e Name of Life (for Berta Cáceres)Chaco de la Pitoreta (HONDURAS)They summon her beauty her freedom to walk, worthy of every strandevery gray hairevery trace of time.The elder women gave her wisdomand her eyes turned to lightwicks of ocoteilluminating the paththe darkness leftby bewildering modernity.The reies taught hertheir glow and their ickeringand she learned they never go outthey never stop shiningthey only pauseto see if the othershave assumed their condition of lighttheir ability to y alone.They gave her the wordand its echo brought her into the world. She speaks with the riversshe tosses about in their currents and laughs wildly she knows water is lifeand to live in the wateris to become eternal.They told her she was a daughter of earthof maízof waterso she became masa clay for the water jugand rivers overowing.The elders gave her the wordand a wooden canethe elder women gave her their wisdomtheir blessing,and she became la Matriashe became eternal.Poetry Chaenge 23

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Poetry Chaenge 25 Y oreció en abril aquella rosa clandestinaNo hubo Covid ni policía que frenara la alborada.De aquella masa danzante y era que bloqueaba las entradas. Fuimos uno y fuimos todos, con banderas y pancartas.Salimos todos a la calle, nadie se quedó en la casa.Los barristas que antes se agredían, hoy en la marcha se abrazaban No hubo miedo, solo valentía desbordada.Fueron tantos atropellos, que el pueblo no aguanto más bofetadasResistió con valentía cada larga jornada Desde los almuerzos en la calle hasta el tropel en las madrugadas.¡Claro que hubo muertos! Desaparecidos y torturadosArdieron los peajes, los Caís y los semáforosLos días fueron de los valientes y las noches de los más verracosLa Primera Línea se paró rme “Stay with Defenders” gritaban a su pasoNo hubo primavera más bella que plantara tantas semillas en el pastoUnas obligadas con ereza, a germinar indómitas en los campos Otras acomodadas en la conciencia que precisan seguir defendiendo a cada hermano Fue un abril por supuesto, que oreció Colombia tomada de las manos.And in April, that clandestine rose ourishedNeither COVID nor police could stop the dawnOf that wild, dancing crowd blocking the entrancesWe were one and everyone, ying ags and bannersWe took to the streets, no one stayed home. Those who used to attack each other embraced at today’s marchThere was no fear, only overowing courage.After so much abuse, the people would not take another blow.They bravely resisted every long workdayFrom lunch hours on the street to early morning riots. People died! Disappeared and tortured.Toll booths, police stations, and trafc lights burnedThe days belonged to the brave and the nights to the erce The Front Line held rm, shouting “Stay with Defenders” as they passed. There was no spring more beautiful, planting so many seeds in the grassSome of them forced to germinate untamed in the eldsOthers sowed in the people’s consciousness the need to defend every brotherOf course, it was in April that Colombia ourished, hand in hand.28 de abrilDiana Cristina Galeano Casadiego (COLOMBIA)April 28Diana Cristina Galeano Casadiego (COLOMBIA)

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Poema dedicado a Noé Vázquez OrtizEres un sueño con alas de polvo estelaracogido en la calidez de los corazones humanos,hoy habitas entre los árboles que te observaron por última vezcuando recogías aromáticas ores, hierbas y frutos de la generosa Madre Tierra,ella te recibió y ahora te alimenta diariamente con la verde savia de su ora.Hay almas que emigran hacia las estrellas,la armonía del universo las reclamapero la tuyaevoca la vidaen la humedad de nuestras fértiles tierras.Ahí, muy cerca de donde danzan los peces,donde corren armadillos e iguanas,entre las higueras,cerca de donde los abuelos charlan en lengua náhuatl:bajo la protección del calor del sol retornaste a la tierra;defendías el humano derecho al agua de los jubilosos ríos:los ladrones del amor,los hombres de humo,los inhumanos,los vacíos,los sucios,los invisibles asesinos para los gobiernos del mundo nos arrebataron tu vida.Y la cristalina hermana agua a la que venerabas día a díate ha puesto delante de nuestros ojosen todos los lugaresdonde se escucha el rítmico pulso de la corriente de los ríos.Te has convertido en semilla y permanecescomo innita germinación de tus palabras.Eres vaso de agua sobre nuestros sedientos labiosjunto a las valientesdefensorasde los ríos.A poem dedicated to Noé Vázquez Ortiz You’re a dream with wings of stardusttaking refuge in the warmth of human hearts,today you live among the trees, your nal witnesses, they saw you picking owers, herbs, and fruits from our generous Mother Earth,she welcomed you and now feeds you daily with the green sap of her ora.Some souls migrate to the stars,called by the harmony of the universe,but yourssummons lifefrom the wet earth of our fertile lands.There, near the place where sh dance,where armadillos and iguanas run,among the g trees,near the elders chatting in Náhuatl:under the sun’s warm protection, you went back into the earth;you defended the human right to the water running in our radiant rivers—thieves of love,men of smoke,the inhumane,the empty,the corrupt,the invisible assassins hired by governments of the world,they took your life from us.And that crystalline sister water you revered day by dayhas put you before our eyeseverywherethe rhythmic streams of river water resound.You have become a seed and live onin the innite germination of your words.You are a glass of water on our thirsty lipsunited with the brave womendefendingour rivers.CanciónMaría Antonia Jiménez Estrada (MÉXICO)SongMaría Antonia Jiménez Estrada (MEXICO)Poetry Chaenge 27

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Poetry Chaenge 29 A quienes paren cada mañana un día mejor. A quienes desafían la grieta y amenazan el muro siendo puente, ladrillo, escalón, puerta. A quienes osan cambiar el foco, la perspectiva, la dirección.A quienes gritan por voz ajenadesoyendo el mudo eco de la indiferencia.A quienes sienten que uno es todosy que todos somos uno.A quienes saben que este sitio no nos pertenecey bregan por devolverle a este mundo a todos.A quienes honran la capacidad de hacery engrandecen al ser humano y el ser humano.A quienes van de la mano con aquellos que parecen destinados a ver espaladas.A quienes besan ojos de hambre y arropan pies abandonados.A quienes reparan vidas desvencijadas y sacan sonrisas agujereadas.A quienes pasan noches sin sueño por quienes perdieron sus sueños.A quienes se desdoblan por los quebradosy retan el statu quo para que tenga revancha el derrotado.A quienes rescatan esperanzas y expanden el sentido.A quienes experimentan que 1+1+1 es red, y que la red es poderosa.A quienes se empecinan contra las lanzas cotidianas,regresan para emparchar sus heridas y salen de vuelta a la intemperie.A quienes les temen los molinos.A ellos imploramos con urgencia ardiente: Abundan los Sanchos, que no abdiquen los Quijotes.To those who every morning give birth to a better day.To those who slip through the cracks and pose a threat to the wall as bridge, brick, step, door.Who dare to change the focus, perspective, direction.Who speak out for the silencedignoring the mute echo of indifference.Who feel that one is everyoneand that we are all one.Who understand this place does not belong to usand who ght to make this world all of ours.Who value the ability to take action and honor human beings and being human.To those who take the hand of people always seeming to get the cold shoulder. Who kiss eyes of hunger and dress abandoned feet.Who mend shattered lives and draw out worn-down smiles.Who lose sleep over those who’ve lost their dreams.Who open themselves for the brokenand challenge the status quo, allowing those beaten down another chance.To those who rescue hopes and expand meaning.Who experience 1+1+1 as a network, and know its power.Who are stubborn against the daily blows,Who return to patch up their wounds,and go back out into the open air.To all those afraid of windmills.We beg you with erce urgency:Sanchos abound, don’t let the Quixotes give in.A quienes les temen los molinosMaría del Campo (URUGUAY)T Tho Afraid of WindmisMaría del Campo (URUGUAY)

30 Poetry Chaenge

Je fus entre tes mains le rongeur qui dénoueLes liens de ta nation soudain certaine, ignée,De n’aimer en son sein que les ombres choyées.Qui étais-je pour toi qu’un grand pantin de boue?Je fus entre tes mains l’œuvre du peintre fouQui croit jouir des couleurs d’un soir d’éternité,Mais éventre tantôt la mère humanité.Qui serai-je pour toi qu’un grand pantin debout?Je fus un jour d’hiver les cendres de ton feu,Je fus ce matin-là les poids des malheureux,Je fus au soir mourant les maux des pauvres bons,Je fus à la nuit grise un numéro, pendu,Je fus à l’engrenage une pièce, perdue,L’homme sans cœur, l’homme sans droits, l’homme sans nom.I was in your hands the rodent that unravelsThe bonds of your nation suddenly certain, igneous,To love in its bosom only the cherished shadows.Who was I to you but a big mud puppet?I was in your hands the work of the mad painterWho thinks he is enjoying the colours of an eternal evening,But sometimes it disembowels mother humanity.Who shall I be to you but a great standing puppet?One winter day I was the ashes of your re,That morning I was the weight of the unfortunate,I was in the evening dying the evils of the poor good,I was in the grey night a number, hung,I was at the gear one piece, lost,The man without heart, the man without rights, the man without name.Je n’ai plus le droit d’être un homme (dans l’hir aemand de 1943)Gabrielle Favre (FRANCE)I am n longer aowed t be a man (in e German winter of 1943)Gabrielle Favre (FRANCE)Poetry Chaenge 31

32Poetry Cha enge32Poetry Cha engeNul ne doitmais j’ai un rêveje le cachepas un granddouze centimètresun livret pour une frontièreparce qu’ici rien n’est bonDéfendeurs, sortez-moi de làmon frère a disparunul ne doitdepuis des moisrien vu rien entendutraces de sangrien vuma sœur violéenul ne doitcorps déchiquetérien vusortez-moi de làje me tue pour des salauds qui me crache au visageStay with me Defendersdroit à la libertéde ne pas être respectéde la fermerd’endurerd’être torturénul ne doitj’ai pas choisiStay with meDéfendeurs, sortez-moi de làje n’ai pas pu grandiravec mes parentsprojeté dans cette violenceenfant soldatnul n’est sensédroit de vivre je ne veux que mourirsécurité on a tous peursortez-moi de lànul ne doitcon itrésistancenul ne doitcamps et réhabilitationencore plus enfermésortez-moi de lànul ne doitsoldatesclavejouet sexuelsortez-moi de lànul ne doittra c d’organesprostitutionpour pas un rondStay with me Defendersnul ne sera soumisrien vu et ça continuealloquelqu’un sortez-moi de làprotectionterre d’asile Stand by Defendersnul ne doitasile de fouon a détruit ma maisonrien entenduexpulsionplus le droit de circuler couvre-feuplus d’abrisDéfendeurs, sortez-moi de làje vais me trouver un trou et me cacherpour les vingt prochaines an-néesquitter son pays mais personne ne veut de moinul ne doitet ce mirador qui me guettecoup de feurien entendusuis-je mort ?sortez-moi de làStay with me sans corps ni tombedétentionrien vula junte a éteint mes prièresmême mon dieu m’a lâchénul ne doits’exprimerles services secretsme ferment la gueule avant même que je l’ouvrebien placéeentre les deux yeuxà distancenul ne doitsurtout pas moipense, mange, prie comme euxet même làon peut toujours te faire cla-quer juste pour le plaisirjuste un trophéenul ne doitsortez-moi de làégalitédémocratiejustice indépendantenul ne peutchangementnul ne veutje vais offrir ma vie en pâtureà ces orduresme jeter sur les barbelésen hurlant libertéDéfendeurs, sortez-moi de làj’avais un rêve tellement petit.Nul ne doitEmmanuel Brasseur (CANADA)

No one shallbut I have a dreamI hide itnot a greattwelve centimetresa booklet for a borderbecause here nothing is goodDefendants, get me out of heremy brother is missingno one shallfor monthsnothing seen nothing heardblood trailsnothing seenmy sister rapedno one shallshredded bodynothing seenget me out of hereI kill myself for bastards who spits in my faceStay with me Defendersright to freedomnot being respectedto close itto endureto be torturedno one shallI did not chooseStay with meDefendants, get me out of hereI couldn’t grow upwith my parentsprojected in this violencechild soldierno one is supposed toright to live I only want to diesecurity we are all afraidget me out of hereno one shallcon ictresistanceno one shallcamps and rehabilitationeven more locked upget me out of hereno one shallsoldierslavesex toyget me out of hereno one shallorgan traf ckingprostitutionfor not a pennyStay with me Defendersno one shall be subjectednothing seen and it continueshellosomeone get me out of hereprotectionland of asylum Stand by Defendersno one shallmadhousemy house was destroyednothing heardexpulsionno longer the right to circulate curfewmore sheltersDefendants, get me out of hereI’ll  nd a hole and hide myselffor the next twenty yearsleave their country but no one doesn’t want meno one shalland this watchtower that is wai-ting for meshotnothing heardAm I dead?get me out of hereStay with me without a body or a gravedetentionnothing seenthe junta has extinguished my prayerseven my god has let go of meno one shallexpress themselvesthe secret servicesshut me up before I even open itwell placedbetween the two eyesremotelyno one shallespecially not methink, eat, pray like themand even thereyou can always be slammed just for funjust a trophyno one shallget me out of hereequalitydemocracyindependent justiceno one canchangeno one wantsI will offer my life as a giftto these bastardsthrow myself on the barbed wirescreaming freedomDefendants, get me out of hereI had such a small dream.N one sha Emmanuel Brasseur (CANADA)Poetry Cha enge 33

34 Poetry ChaengeIl avait mis son pantalon à pliscelui des cérémonies des jours de fêtenon pas que ce soit le plus jolimais le dernier qu’il avait à se mettreil a marché longtempsles épaules ouvertes au quatre vents aux nuages à la poussièreil a serré les dents mangé du cartonles poings fermés sur la maison abandonnéeles ruines et le visage de sa sœurgris de cendre et de paradis il a marché longtemps les yeux ouvertssur le chemin laissé derrière luiles valises ébréchées remplies de vestigesde photos de famille et d’un pull tricoté des mains de sa mèreil a brassé des vaguesa cru mourir cent fois dans l’écume mordantea injurié les cieuxa sourit à la terre ferme qui dessinait au loin un nouveau paysil a dit merci il a été poliil s’est assis là où on lui a ditil a caché ses mains sales dans les poches de son pantalon à pliset attenduattenduattenduque la vie commence à nouveauce matin il s’est réveillé les pieds gelés le ventre affaméson pantalon à plis fatiguéet toujours son plus beau sourireet toujours les yeux rivéssur les montagnes et ce qu’il imaginait au-delàquand on lui a dit de couriril s’est souvenu de sa sœur de son visage plein de riresdu jardin en eurs et de la voix de son pèrequand il a reçu la première balle dans la têteil tenait un chiffon blanc dans une mainet son passeport dans l’autrecomme deux petits étendardsil est mort ainsiloin de sa maison de son jardin euriil portait son pantalon à pliset le pull tricoté des mains de sa mèresi vous voulez connaître son nom il s’appelait Mohamed ou Bassem ou Naëlsi vous voulez connaître son âgeil avait vingt deux anssi vous voulez connaître la datec’était mardi derniersi vous voulez savoir qui a tiré la première ballevous ne le saurez jamaissi vous voulez savoir où il est mortc’était dans le petit jardin euriqui sentait bon le pain grilléet le café au laitc’est en tout cas la dernière choseà laquelle il a pensécar c’était bien là les seules chosesqu’il était venu chercherun peu de painet un morceau de jardin.Le pantalon à plisEmile Brugière (FRANCE)

He had put on his pleated trousersThe one of the ceremonies of the feast daysnot that it is the prettiestbut the last one he had to put onhe walked for a long timefacing the four winds the clouds, the dusthe gritted his teeth and ate cardboardclosed sts on the abandoned housethe ruins and the face of his sisterash and paradise grey he walked for a long time with his eyes openon the path left behindchipped suitcases lled with relicsof family photos and a jumper knitted by her mother’s handshe stirred up wavesthought he would die a hundred times in the biting foamhe insulted the heavenshe smiled at the land that drew a new country in the distancehe said thank you he was politehe sat where he was toldhe hid his dirty hands in the pockets of his pleated trousersand he waitedwaitedwaitedthat life begins againthis morning he woke up frozen feet, hungry stomachhis tired pleated trousersand always his best smileand always the eyes rivetedon the mountains and what he imagined beyondwhen he was told to runhe remembered his sister of her face full of laughterof the garden in bloom and his father’s voicewhen he was rst shot in the headhe held a white cloth in one handand his passport in the otherlike two little bannershe died like thisaway from his home and ower gardenhe was wearing his pleated trousersand the jumper knitted by his mother’s handsif you want to know his name his name was Mohamed or Bassem or Naëlif you want to know its agehe was twenty-two years oldif you want to know the dateit was last Tuesdayif you want to know who red the rst bulletyou will never knowif you want to know where he diedit was in the little ower gardenthat smelled like toastand coffee with milkthis is the last thingthat he thought offor these were the only thingsthat he had come forsome breadand a piece of garden.The pleated troursEmile Brugière (FRANCE)Poetry Chaenge 35

36 Poetry ChaengeHomme, tu aimerais bien comprendre Ce qui m’incite irrésistiblement à me jeterSous une pluie de balles et d’offensesPour abriter cet enfant égaréTu voudrais bien savoir Ce qui se passe dans ma têtePourquoi mon absence tous les soirs ?Lors des sorties, des rendez-vous, des fêtesEt pourquoi au moindre appel, je fonce frénétiquementLà où la veuve et l’orphelin quêtent du secours désespérémentLà où les larmes de l’enfant hurlent à la faim perpétuellementLà où l’arc s’échappe des mains d’un cupidon adolescentLà où à visage découvert règne la maltraitance servileLes viols, les violences, les mesquineries débilesDes tyrans tyrannisant leurs populationsDes opposants jetés sans procès en prisonReste avec moi, viensEnlace tes doigts aux miensSache que l’âme de la défenseuse qui partout conjure les sortsC’est le carburant de l’amoureuse qui t’aime si fortMon alter ego… Je n’ai jamais eu une autre ambitionQue celle de faire revivre cette magnique humanitéCelle que me dessinait à coups de nombreuses oraisonsMon exceptionnelle, majestueuse trimillénaire méméL’obligeance de faire reculer cette n qui se préditDans les carnages de cœur, les massacres de vieDe culture, de nature, d’héritage, de sociétéDe nation, de civilisation, d’humanitéReste avec moi, mon mariSœur, père, mère, amiTu sais que je ne peux vivre dans le remordsIl est de mon droit de cibler et d’attaquer le tortHomme, un jour certainement tu me demanderasPourquoi pas les autres, pourquoi toujours moi là-basSache que c’est une question que j’ai depuis dépasséC’est à chaque être humain de prendre ses responsabilités Et surtout, lorsque je songe à ces rires magiquesD’enfants qui m’entourent de Syrie en AfriqueEt que je me plonge dans leurs deux rayons d’espoir C’est le bonheur que je ne cesse d’y voir!!Reste avec moi, tiensEnlace mes doigts aux tiensHomme, sache que l’âme de la défenseuse qui partout conjure les sortsC’est cela même le carburant de l’amoureuse qui t’aime si fort…Épistolaire de l’humaine humanité à l’hommeRuth Rose Evemb’a Ndito (CAMEROUN)

Man, you’d like to understand What makes me want to throw myself Under a rain of bullets and offensesTo shelter this lost childYou would like to know What’s going on in my headWhy am I absent every night?On outings, appointments, partiesAnd why, at the slightest call, I frantically rush Where the widow and the orphan desperately seek helpWhere the child’s tears cry out in perpetual hungerWhere the bow escapes from the hands of an adolescent cupidWhere openly slavery reignsThe rapes, the violence, the stupid pettinessTyrants tyrannising their populationsOpponents thrown into prison without trialStay with me, comeWrap your ngers around mineKnow that the soul of the defender who everywhere conjures up the spellsIt’s the fuel of the lover who loves you so muchMy alter ego... I never had any other ambitionThat of reviving this magnicent humanityThe one that I drew with many orationsMy exceptional, majestic grandmotherThe obligation to postpone this predicted endIn the carnage of the heart, the slaughter of lifeOf culture, nature, heritage, societyOf nation, of civilisation, of humanityStay with me, my husbandSister, father, mother, friendYou know I can’t live with remorseIt is my right to target and attack the wrongMan, one day you will certainly ask meWhy not the others, why always me thereYou should know that this is a question I have since outgrownIt is up to each human being to take responsibility And above all, when I think of that magical laughterOf children who surround me from Syria to AfricaAnd that I immerse myself in their two rays of hope That’s the happiness I keep seeing in it!Stay with me, hereWrap my ngers around yoursMan, know that the soul of the defender who everywhere conjures up the spellsThis is the fuel of the lover who loves you so much...Epistolary from human humanity t manRuth Rose Evemb’a Ndito (CAMEROON)Poetry Chaenge 37

38 Poetry ChaengeIl est des regards remplis de poésieDes lèvres chargées d’histoires, mais qui jamais n’oseront parlerIl est des bras qui portent la vie, mais qui ne peuvent se porter eux-mêmesIl est des corps fragiles qui portent le monde, mais qui ne vivent plus dans le mondeIl est des cris qui au fond des silences résonnentDes larmes qui derrière les sourires dansentDes douleurs acquises comme fatalité qui comme un héritage, sont transmis de silence en silenceIl est des espoirs qui se nourrissent de désespoirDes nids de bonheur qui ne savent pas la joie de vivreIl est des prouesses qui on a appris qu’elles ne sont et ne valent rienIl est des mains qui font le monde, mais qui chaque jour quémandent leur painDes forces surhumaines qui portent des nations, mais qui n’ont pas droit à la paroleIl est des cris qui au fond des silences résonnentCes êtres si fragiles, mais si forts à qui on a fait croire qu’ils ne sont rienIl y a ces êtres qu’on craint et qu’on a museléCes voix trop vives et trop viriles pour êtres celles de femmesIl y a ces sexes faibles qui ont pourtant appris aux forts ce qu’est un hommeIl y a ces femmes dont l’intelligence et le verbe dérangentCes femmes dont les tambours d’allégresse ont été enchaînés et mis au cachotIl y a ces tambours qui sont devenus silencesTambour de silenceIl y a cette femme qui porte le mondeQui de ses petites mains nourrissent des centaines d’âmeMais à qui on a dit que la voix ne comptait pasTu es cette femme qu’ils craignentTu es cette intelligence qu’ils redoutentTu es ce rêve dont ils redoutent la réalisationTu es cet espoir qu’ils ont mal au cœur de voir germerTu es cette petite chose qui fait trembler ces hommes fortsAlors de ta petite voix, brilleBrille dans les ténèbres où ils t’ont enferméQue ton cri résonne comme un tambourEt que la poésie de tes douleurs traversent les âgesDe ta petite voix,Résonne par delà les nations et va leur direQue la petite chose qu’ils craignent est réveilléeRésonneTambour des silencesEpiphanie Dionrang (TCHAD)

There are looks full of poetryLips full of stories, but never daring to speakThere are arms that carry life, but cannot carry themselvesThere are fragile bodies that carry the world, but no longer live in the worldThere are cries that resound in the depths of silenceTears that dance behind smilesPains acquired as a fatality that, like an inheritance, are transmitted from silence to silenceThere are hopes that are fed by despairNests of happiness that do not know the joy of livingThere are feats that we have learned are worthless and worthlessThere are hands that make the world, but every day they beg for their breadSuperhuman forces that carry nations, but are not allowed to speakThere are cries that resound in the depths of silenceThese beings, so fragile, but so strong, who have been made to believe that they are nothingThere are those beings that we fear and that we have muzzledThese voices, too lively and too virile to be those of womenThere are those weak sexes who have taught the strong what a man isThere are those women whose intelligence and words are disturbingThose women whose drums of joy have been chained and dunkedThere are those drums that have become silentSilent drumThere is this woman who carries the worldWho with his little hands feed hundreds of soulsBut who was told that the voice did not countYou are that woman they fearYou are that intelligence which they fearYou are the dream they fear to realizeYou are the hope that they ache to see germinateYou are that little thing that makes these strong men trembleSo with your little voice, shineShine in the darkness where they have locked you upLet your cry sound like a drumAnd may the poetry of your pain live on through the agesIn your little voice,Resonate across the nations and tell themThat the little thing they fear is awakeResonatesDrum of silencesEpiphanie Dionrang(CHAD)Poetry Chaenge 39

40 Poetry Chaenge

Duas meninas brincamTernura no parquinho Do condomínio fechado.Doces balas, merendas, prendas Para meninasSabores de Infâncias contempladas.Duas meninas brincam e morrem No batente da porta da frente Do barracoBalas calam a ternura São mais dois assassinatos.Dor de balas, susto, tomboPara meninasSabores de infâncias dizimadas.Não há bala perdidaBalas são ofertadas, recebidasHá embalagens e miras.Trajetórias certeiras Sabor de festa ou de sanguePara meninas Com endereços e cor.Two little girls playLife is tender in the playgroundWithin the community’s gates.Sweet hard candy, snacks, knickknacksFor little girlsCelebrated childhoods, candy-avored.Two little girls play and dieOn the front stepsOf their shacksBullets that silence what was tenderTwo more killings on impact.Pain from bullets, startles, tumblesFor little girlsWiped out childhoods, sour-avored.There’s no such thing as a bullet astrayBullets are taken; they’re given awayThere is chewing gum wrapper or spewing gun’s aim.Clearly dened trajectoriesFlavored like party or bloodFor little girlsWith addresses and color.Balas para Quatr MeninasMaria de Fátima Ribeiro Soares (BRASIL)Hard candy for four lile girls Maria de Fátima Ribeiro Soares (BRAZIL)Poetry Chaenge 41

42Poetry Cha enge42Poetry Cha engeHá poesia quando se trata de Direitos Humanos no Brasil? Há poesia dos Direitos Humanos no Brasil. A poesia pelos Direitos Humanos no Brasil: Falo daquiSe do centro ou da margemNão dá para de nir Depende do ponto de vista Não de quem vê Mas... em quem arde E parte...Agora é tarde. Agora é tarde? Não, nunca é tarde! É preciso mover É preciso dizer São 200 mil pessoas em situação de rua Quase 800 mil privadas de liberdade Somos o quinto país que mais mata mulheres apenas por serem mulheresE arde... Sem falar de raça Sem falar de religião Sem falar dos povos origináriosE continua ardendo... Infelizmente, nada disso é do nosso imaginário Mas, ainda há poesia? Vulnerabilidade social Acesso desigual Políticas públicas ine cazes Minimizar agravantes, parece não ser a principal vontade Investimento em cultura e esporte não é a realidade É desemprego ou subempregoCondições escassas de se viver com dignidade Marginalização e exclusão: Ou se está na margem Ou nem nela cabeFica fora Fora de que? Fora de onde? Se os centros não funcionam sem essa mão de obra barata Sem o capital humano? E ainda dizem que está tudo normal Tudo nos conformes Inventaram o termo “insegurança alimentar” Para mascarar a fome É miséria e desilusão Sonhar? Só se for com a possibilidade de comprar o pão Infraestrutura urbana é luxo Se tem moradia, já está mais do que bom Saúde, lazer, educação? Aí já é demais Não dá para prometer, não... Infâncias roubadas Calamidade decretada E o  m disso tudo, já sabemos: É a não garantia de nossos direitos A não ser que nos levantemos E LUTEMOS! É ir pro combate É resistir Nunca é tarde! É preciso mover É preciso dizer Nunca é tarde Porque ainda ardePorque ainda há a arte. Porque ainda há gente.As gentes. Porque ainda há a gente. Agente. Em frente!Poesia (?) pelos/dos Direitos Humanos n BrasilTamires Fernanda Baptista Frasson (BRASIL)

Is there poetry when it comes to Human Rights in Brazil?There is poetry about Human Rights in Brazil.Poetry for Human Rights in Brazil:This is where I speak fromCenter or marginIt can’t be de nedThat is up to the point of viewNot from those who are lookingBut… those on whom it stings and achesThose who leave us in their wake…Now, it is too late.But is now too late?No, it is never late!We need to get upWe need to speak up200 thousand sleeping on the streetsNearly 800 thousand with no freedom to embrace5th country to kill more women for being womenAnd it stings, and it aches…Not to mention raceNot to mention religionNot to mention the indigenousAnd it continues to sting…Sadly, none of it  ctitiousBut is there still poetry?Social vulnerabilityInequitable accessibilityInef cient public policiesLessening crime aggravation doesn’t seem like a priorityInvestments in culture and sports never part of our realityUnemployment or underemploymentScarcity preventing from living with dignitySidelining and exclusion:You’re either at the marginsOr don’t even  t into thoseYou stand outsideBut outside of what?Outside of where?If centers can’t run without cheap workforceWithout human capital?And they tell us this is normalAll as it should, according to planThey made up the term “food insecurity”To mask the hunger of a manIt is misery and being misledA dream? Affording a loaf of breadUrban infrastructure is a luxuryHaving a home ought to be good enough.Health, education, leisure time to be had?That’s asking too muchCan’t make such promise ironclad…Childhoods ensnaredCalamity declaredAnd the end is no surprise:No assurance of our rightsUnless, that is, we riseIf we stand up and if we FIGHT!It’s facing the battleIt’s resistingIt is never late!We need to get upWe need to speak upIt is never lateFor it all still stingsAnd for art still springs.For there are people still.There are the people who do.For there is still us all.Us, people, to go to.On we go, we stand tall!Poetry (?) for/of Human Rights in Brazil Tamires Fernanda Baptista Frasson (BRAZIL)Poetry Cha enge 43

44 Poetry Chaenge

É exívelAs vezes parecer ser de braAtuação incrívelTrata-se de defender a vida.É forteAtua com bastante solidezCultua a vida, não celebra a morteUltraja qualquer resquício de hediondez.É intransigentePreza pelo direito do culpado ou inocenteO que vale é a vida do ser livre ou penitenteDignidade no trato, ninguém é indigente.É como lançaAcerta o alvo conançaCom destemor avançaPreserva o adolescente ou a criança.São voluntáriosSão prossionaisE a depender do cenárioSão vistos como marginais.São seres humanosProtege o semelhante em todos os espaçosPra alegres, ora chorandoNinguém é de aço, é normal o cansaço.Quem são?Há circunstâncias que é preciso anonimatoEm outras a solidãoPois corre risco de sofrer um assassinato.Apesar de tudo, insistem em continuarSabem que a vida é o bem maiorO poema é pra rearmarQue a atuação de vocês faz o mundo ser melhor.It is exibleSometimes like it’s made of berA work that’s so incredibleEnsuring every life is well looked-after.It is toughIt works with solidnessIt worships life, not deathOutrages any trace of hideousness.It is intransigentCherishes the rights of the guilty and the innocentThere’s value in the life of the free or the penitentDignied treatment, no man should be indigent.It is somewhat like a spearHits target straight and center, not near!It always goes on, no place for fearTeenager and child, it holds most dear.They are volunteersThey are professionalsAnd depending on which story you hearThey’re looked upon as criminals.They’re human beingsProtect their equals, they always willAmidst tears of joy or tears of griefNo one’s made of steel, feel as tired as you feel.Who are they, you may ask?Some circumstances require anonymity.There is loneliness in the taskAnd a risk of being killed for their activity.Despite it all, they insist on moving onFor they know life’s the highest grace.This poem’s meant to reconrmYour work makes the world a better place.Ninguém é de aç, é normal  cansaçSamuel Lourenço Filho(BRASIL)N one’s made of stl, fl as tired as you fl Samuel Lourenço Filho (BRAZIL)Poetry Chaenge 45

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Menino brancoTomaUm copo de leite brancoDeitaMenino brancoNo lençol brancoComeMenino brancoMingau brancoSua colher branca é bonitaSua mãe branca que me olha como quem castigaPorque eu sede sono fome faltaMinha mãe negra trabalha muito eToma, mãeDeita, mãeCome, mãeMãe negra é bonita tambémPõe eu no colo quando aito na camaEu grito toda noiteE brancoO quartoPara fora me derramaOraçãMaria Ribeiro (BRASIL)White boyDrink itA glass of white milkLie downWhite boyOn your white sheetsEat upWhite boyYour white oatmealYour white spoon is prettyYour white mom eyes me punishinglyBecause I, thirst hunger lackMy black mom works too much andHere, momLie down, momEat up, momBlack mothers are pretty tooHold me tight, when, in bed, I thrash aboutI scream every nightAnd the bedroom,White,Pours me outPrayerMaria Ribeiro(BRAZIL)Poetry Chaenge 47

48Poetry Cha engePreceRafael Zãn (BRASIL)Prece de um ansioso Ó meu senhor, minha senhora Acendo-te esta vela às duas da manhã Pois já está passando da horaMinha insônia é de uma ansiedade tamanha Há horas que eu rolo na camaE quero lhes dizer com esta luz de testemunhaQue importância tem a falta de esperança?Dos que estão sem lar, e sempre em mudança?Eu sei que já está tarde e tenho onde me deitar Que tenho um lençol que me aquece E o que me alimentar Mas, sei que estás aqui, ouvindo minha preceLhe pergunto: e os seres humanos que estão sem lar?Jogados ao relento?Sem abraços de travesseiros, sem chá Sem seu cobertor, largados ao ventoO que me dizes? O que farás? Muitos creem em tiÉ assim, de fome e sede morrerás?Eu lhe sinto, sei que existe.Agora já são quatro da manhã E vou lhe confessar minha infânciaTambém já passei fome E por tudo que já vivi e viMe tornei adulto desde criançaTalvez isso me abriu os olhosDe enxergar os desabrigadosDe molho, inundadosSe hoje Jesus voltar Os que usam seu nome iriam novamente pregá-lo E quando dizem ao seu desânimo Onde está a beleza da vida?O por que de tanta dor?Dos dias escuros e do remédio da feridaque não sei pra onde eu ando.E Quando se pensa na fome que existe no mundo? De tanta gente e de tanto nome E o por que desse buraco tão fundo?E quando se pensa em desistir?Dos tropeços dessa caminhada Do choro de quem queria sorrir Dos sem caminho, dos sem estradaE quando se pensa nos sem tetoMe dá um troço na alma Por ver os que  cam quieto Por seus calos feridos, em palmaJá são seis da manhã Alvorada se aproxima Vou preparar meu café Rezo para que mude o clima E os que se arrastam pelo chão Fiquem de péPorque fé, haja fé.

Plea Rafael Zãn (BRAZIL)Prayer of an anxious oneOh my lord, oh my ladyIt is two in the morning as I light you this candleFor it is almost past time alreadyMy insomnia and anxiety so much to handleI’ve been tossing and turning for hoursAnd I mean to tell you, with this light as my witness:What importance is there to hopelessness?Of those always on the move, facing ongoing homelessness?I know that it’s late and I’ve a bed to call my ownThat I’ve a set of sheets to keep me nice and warmAnd that I have food on my plate I can feed onBut, still, I know you’re here, and that my prayer you, too, can hear And I ask you: What of men  nding themselves with no ceiling?Sleeping rough, lying out in the coldNo hot tea to drink, no pillows, no dreamingNo blanket, discarded, taking every harsh wind blowWhat do you say? What will you do?So many in a belief of you persist.Is that it? Die of thirst and of hunger too?I know you’re there, I can feel you exist.It is already four in the morningAnd I’ll confess my  rst years to youI know how being hungry feels tooAnd for all that I have lived and seenI became an adult before I was even a teenPerhaps this is what opened my eyesTo see those panhandlingSuspended and soakingIf Jesus was to return todayHe’d be preached by the ones who use his nameAnd when they address their dismay and say:Where is it, the beauty of life?Why such a great amount of pain?So many dark days and drugs for the strifethat I’m left not knowing where I can go to.And what of the faminethat into our world seeps?Affecting so many people and so many names?And what of the whys of a hole so, so deep?And when you think of quittingAll the stumbles along the wayThe tears of men who should be grinningThe ones without a say, with no road on which to stayWhen you think of those with no roof over their headsMy soul itself, it revolts and it churnsAt the ones who see but pretend to be deadFor their fellows men’s open, raw wounds and burnsIt is now six in the morningSunrise will soon be hereA pot of coffee I will makeAnd pray a weather change is nearAnd that those who crawl along the  oorGet on their feet and upright stayBecause of faith, much faith, it takes.Poetry Cha enge 49

50Poetry Cha enge

Poetry Cha enge 51Poetry Cha enge 51ฉันเป็นเหมือนคนบ้าที่กล้าฝัน เพราะอยากเห็นคืนวันที่ฝั นถึงที่หลายคนต่างเฝ้ามองอย่างรำาพึงเฝ้ามองถึงสังคมใหม่ที่งดงามเมื่อก่อนนั้นฉันเคยละเลยสิทธิ์ปล่อยชีวิตให้ไร้สิ้นซึ่งคำาถามจนสังคมที่เคยดีมันต่ำาทรามจึงต้องตั้งคำาถามหาความจริงฉันจึงเริ่มด้วยการเพิ่มความสงสัยถึงบางเรื่องที่แปลกไปในหลายสิ่งทั้งเรื่องนี้เรื่องนั้นถูกช่วงชิงถึงความจริงที่ควรเป็นไม่เห็นเลยฉันจึงต้องลุกขึ้นออกมาพูดมาพิสูจน์ถึงความจริงอย่างเปิดเผยมาตอกย้ำาทำาต่ออย่างที่เคยเพื่อเฉลยถึงความจริงที่เจอมาความจริงที่ประชาชนถูกกดหัวให้หวาดกลัวจนตัวต้องหวาดผวามันปิดปากฝากขังด้วยเงินตราใช้อำานาจกักขาประชาชนความจริงที่หลายคนต้องไร้สิทธิ์ถูกจำากัดทางความคิดอย่างไร้ผลถูกลดทอนคุณค่าความเป็นคนให้ต้องทนต่อสังคมที่เป็นไปฉันจึงต้องกล้าฝันดั่งคนบ้ากล้าทายท้าต่อฟ้าที่กว้างใหญ่มาท้าท้ายซึ่งหน้าอย่างตั้งใจเพื่อแก้ไขปัญหาตามต้องการเพราะสังคมมันมีการกดขี่จึงต้องมีวิธีการต่อต้านและทุกการต่อสู้พร้อมเคียงข้างร่วมต่อต้านสร้างฝันอย่างพร้อมเพรียงคนบ้�ที่กล้�ฝันทรงพล สนธิรักษ์(ประเทศไทย)I am like a madman for daring to dreamOf the day that I wish on a starA new, beautiful world many want but can’t seemTo do more than watch from afarBefore, I ignored my way through lifeAny question of rights unheededTill society took a moral diveAnd a quest to  nd truth was neededAnd so I began by asking more questionsOf things that had gotten weirdWherever I looked I got the impressionThat the truth had been disappearedSo I had to stand up and speak out about itTo attest to the truth in plain sightTo insist on insisting on things I’ve encounteredSo that the truth comes to lightThe truth that the people have been cowedIn so much fear their bodies convulseThat with money they muzzle, that with powerThey arrest the people’s pulseThe truth that many must do without rightsTheir thought choked with no chance to growTheir human worth slapped with such a low priceThey can’t change the status quoNow that is why I shall dare to dreamAs a madman dares the skyTo stare face-to-face with the powers that beAnd compel them to rectifyBecause oppression is underwayResisters must we becomeAnd with every defender shall we stayTo resist—to build dreams as oneMadhumans Wh Dare T DreamSongphon Sonthirak(THAILAND)

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Poetry Chaenge 53 แม้ย่างก้าวยาวไกลใจอย่าท้อ จงก้าวต่อด้วยสองเท้าบนเถ้าถ่านอาจ.. คนรุ่นเรานั้นร้าวราน แต่เมื่อวานที่สิ้นหวังต่างaนี้แม้ว่าถึงหรือไม่ยังไม่รู้ เมื่อศัตรูถือศาตรามีม้าขี่แต่ดีกว่าต้องก้มหัวชั่วชีวี ก่อนคนรุ่นต่อจากนี้จะลืมตาหน้าที่ของหนุ่มสาว คือนำาทางสังคมเก่าให้ก้าวหน้าทุบสวรรค์เบื้องบนให้หล่นลงมา สู่โลกของคนธรรมดาบนพื้นดินโดยไม่มีข้อแม้ คนรุ่นพ่อรุ่นแม่แพ้แล้วทั้งสิ้นอนาถเหลือ.. เหงื่อกูที่สูกิน!ยังได้ยินอยู่ทุกคืนเสียงปืนดังบนถนนนักต่อสู้ไม่รู้จบผู้มาก่อนนอนเป็นศพมิกลบฝังฝากร่างไว้บอกเล่า “ก้าวอย่างระวัง”ทุกค่ำาคืนพวกเขายังเฝ้าคุ้มครองแม้ขวากหนามข้ามไม่พ้นหลายหนเจ็บหลายคนเก็บแผลเก่าเน่ากลัดหนองเช่นที่เป็นมาเสมอ.. เมื่อเธอมองยังมีเราเหล่าพี่น้องประคองไปแม้ต้องกลายเป็นขบฏ! มิโดดเดี่ยวเธอคือทางออกเดียวของยุคสมัยฟังสิ! เสียงของคนทุกข์ ปลุกหัวใจ!บอกเธอว่า.. เธอไม่ได้เดินผิดทางโปรดจำ�ไว้.. เร�ต่�งอยู่ข้�งเธอเมฆ’ ครึ่งฟ้ �(ประเทศไทย)Long as the road may stretch, do not lose heart,Keep stepping forward through the burnt debris;Our generation may be torn apart,But now is not our hopeless history.We may have arrived, or we may have not,With foes on horseback, weapons in their hands;But better this than to accept our lot,And leave the coming gen no ghting chance.Young people’s job:Lead old society to make forward strides;Scatter the riches above among the mob,Demolish thus the Heaven that divides.There are no ifs or buts—Our parents’ generation was thoroughly crushed!How tragic… that voice my sweat you consumeStill echoes every night each cannon boom.On the road of ghters that will know no end,The ones who came before lie dead, uncovered;Their bodies caution “watch your step, my friend,”And nightly, to protect, their spirits hover.While at some point the thistles and thorns are boundTo hurt, and some let old sores fester, ooze;Know that as always… when you look around,We, your kin, will be there. Never just you,No, even if you must go underground!You are the only way out, our way through;Listen— a voice of the wretched jolts the heart awake!Saying… the path you’ve chosen is not a mistake.Remember, we’re a by your sideMek Krueng Fah(THAILAND)

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“ความเป็นมนุษย์”‘เปรี้ยง เปรี้ยง เปรี้ยง’ เสียงปืนคืนกาลีขณะที่มโนธรรมไร้คำาถามมือนั้นเร่งโหมไฟให้ไหม้ลามแหละเท้านั้นเหยียบข้ามความเป็นมนุษย์ดับร้อยพันดวงเทียนแห่งเมียนมาร์ชีวิตผู้ถูกฆ่า บริสุทธิ์เลือดของนักศึกษาหน้าวัดพุทธยังไม่หยุดหยาดรินแผ่นดินทองเขารู้ข้างนอกนั้นอันตรายเมื่อลูกหมายร่วมหวังชนทั้งผอง“ไปเถิดเจ้าจงมีเสรีครอง”พ่อนิ่งมองพร้อมกับซับน้ำาตาพอรุ่งเช้าเขาเปิดประตูบ้านพบร่องรอยหลักฐานแห่งการฆ่านกสีขาวบินไปไม่กลับมาสู่ฟากฟ้ารุ่งเรือง สู่เมืองงามกี่เลือดเนื้อ กี่ร่างกลางถนนคนกับคน มโนธรรมตั้งคำาถามเถิดจงร่วมดับไฟที่ไหม้ลามอย่างน้อย..ในนามความเป็นมนุษย์Bang bang the gunshots rang in the dark nightAs conscience took no issue in the slightestWith the hands that fanned the re fast consumingAnd the feet that walked all over what is humanMyanmar’s lights, snuffed out by the hundredsThose slaughtered: innocent. The blood of studentsRight outside temples still has not congealedOn the Buddhist Golden Land a killing eldHe was aware, out there danger’s afootWhen his child joined hopes with the multitude“Go, and may Liberty protect you, dear”Dad gave a long look as he wiped a tearCome morning he barely had to leave the buildingTo nd some trace, some evidence of killingThe doves had own away: they’re gone for goodGone to a bright sky, a lovely neighborhoodSo many bodies, so much bloody tissueAren’t they people? conscience is taking issueLet’s put out the re consuming the streetsFor the sake of what is human - at least.คว�มเป็นมนุษย์หทัยรัตน์ จตุรวัฒน�(ประเทศไทย)What is humanHatairatt Jaturawatana(THAILAND)Poetry Chaenge 55

56 Poetry Chaengeเสื้อผ้าของพวกเขาขาดวิ่นฉันมีเข็มส่วนเธอมีด้ายอาทิตย์ฉายแสงเคียงข้างเราFixปรัชญ� พงษ์พ�นิช(ประเทศไทย)Their shirts are torn to shredsI have a needle, you have threadThe sun is shining by our sideFixPrachya Pongpanich(THAILAND)

Poetry Chaenge 57 หนูตัวเล็กลอดผ่านซี่กรงเหล็กผลุบผลับเข้าออกเหนือกรอบหน้าต่างผนังห้องลอกล่อนจับจ้องเจ้าตัวจิ๋วยุงป่องเป่งด้วยเลือดจ้องมองมันเจ้าหนูยื้อยุดดวงจันทร์ฉุดเส้นแสงเงินยวงร่วงสู่ห้องขังนักโทษแสงจันทร์จับเจ้าหนูตัวเล็กพร่างระยับราวเคหวัตถุละล่องร่วมนภากาศสุภาพมุสิกะมารยาทนุ่มนวลไม่ดื่ม กิน เข่นเขี้ยวเคี้ยวฟันยามดวงตาวามขลับวับเล่ห์ทอดน่องในคลองจันทร์แด่เซียน้อยจักรพงศ์ ทรวงชมพันธ์ (ประเทศไทย)The little mouse slips through the iron barssteals in and out above the windowsillthe peeling walls xate on the itsy-bitsy onethe mosquito bloated with blood keeps an eye on itthe mouse catches the moonlightyanks the silvery rays down plummeting now to the prison cellthe moon captures our little mousebedazzled like a terrestrial body oating with the etherfabled mouse polite ladylikedoesn’t drink doesn’t eat doesn’t grind its teethwhile its beady eyes twinkle in mischief loitering in the moon canal.T Lile SiaJakraphong Soungchompan (THAILAND)

58 Poetry Chaenge

Nimeandika jicho mtaani, yale nawasimulia ‘menikera;Msanii n kioo cha jamii, haki tumeivuruga na kuivyoga Akina fulani metusaliti, bei ghali ya haki nanadiaAdui nnasi asitutishe, akili kali tukuze.Tuwalinde wanaotupigania haki, viongozi kachacha na kutuchafua mio-yoZao n ahadi za kiswahili, wengine akili zao hamnazo-Wakitoka chakari, wakirudi chondo!Kanisa pia ‘metuasi, tukimbilie wapi, ee bwana?Utumishi kwa wote, raia kuchukua sheria mkononiKawaagizia mawe wezi wote, na kuwahukumu motoniKiini chake kaiba mkate, na kauacha mkono bila kuutia kinywaniDamu ya wengi iliotiririka yalia, waliailiwa na kuwawa kinyamaTusiambulie macho hivi vita, ama tutaambulia patupuTujikakamue kwa hivi vita, na tubwage uzuzu na utunduKila siku tufwate sheria, haki iwe ngao ya kumbukumbuTushambulie huyu mwovu simba, na tuambue hili ngozi la kondoo.Tusimame imara kuilinda katiba, na tusitishwe na mapepoHewani tupeperushe bendera, kwani haki ina mashikioKiongozi bora ni mama, anaongoza kwa matendoTuangukie haki mguuni, kwani haki ni upendo.Haki ni mkandaAyub Linford Nyanchongi(KENYA)I have written of what’s on the streets, I recount what “irks” me;The artist is society’s mirror, we have tread and disrupted rightsYou so and so’s have betrayed us and auctioned rights at a high price to the Enemy but we will not be intimidated, we’ll consolidate our ken.Protect those who ght for us, for leaders have gone stale and wrecked our hopesTheirs are duplicitous promises, their wily intellect is unmatched– some so quick off the mark, their return rings a knell!Church too you’ve betrayed us, oh Lord, where is our refuge?Service for all, citizens take the law in their own handsStone all thieves, and damn them to hellAnd for stealing bread, his hand was forfeit without ever getting to his mouththe blood of many that owed cries out, they were accused and cruelly killed.Let us not merely look at this war, else we’ll leave with aughtSteadfast in this war we should be, and get rid of stupidity and misbehaviourRespect the law daily, using justice as the shield of referenceTear down this evil lion, remove his sheep’s clothing.Stand tall to defend the constitution, ne’er fearing evil spiritsFly the ag in the sky, for justice has earsA good leader is a mother, she leads by deeds Let us fall at the feet of justice for justice is love.Justice is a shieldAyub Linford Nyanchongi(KENYA)Poetry Chaenge 59

60 Poetry ChaengeUkweli kamiliMartin Mwangi(KENYA)July 1st to june 30th, the government calendar. Hapa ndio sisi wenye nchi tukufu tutakupeleka wewe mwanachi mtukufu date.Relax, usijaliBudget already iko,Kwa hii relationship yetuOpeness, accountability na public participation ndio mtindo. Kile wewe mwanachi mtukufu unataka kitapatikana, lakini kwa sasa itabidi umejipanga kwasababu sisi wenye nchi tushaserve menu ile tunataka. Lakini karibu, karibu kwa hii special buffet, Leo tunaserve the house specialty,unnished projects tossed in false promises, huh? Eti hii dish umezoea? Oohh yeah, ni ju we’ve been serving it for a while so how about we spice things up kidogo tu, Do you mind some fried half truths accompanied by half information seasoned with a little bit of secrecy? Utaipenda, kwanza vile tutaipresent kwenye sinia, too good to be true utajipata umeingia box hata kama hukunuia. Half truths served as main truth resulting to half results presented kama full results. Tutakupa ukweli kamili, lakini si kwa ukamilifu(Whispers) Ukweli ni, budget process ni inclusive kwa kila mwananchi kutoa maoniReal truth, process ni inclusive lakini only to the parties interested kukutolea maoni.Uko kwa era ya full truths but told in half truthsKwahivo jiulize, kwanini tuweke tarehe ya public participation privately?And if at all we have your best interest at heart... then kwanini washikadau same wanapata info separately?Karibu, ni hapa tutakupa mchele njeri sisi tukila pilau kisha ukicomplain tunakuambia shukuru umekula angalau.Lakini for how long shall you live na hizi half truths za angalau?Mimi sijui, wewe jibuHuu ni ugonjwa uko nao, and I hope hutapata wa kukutibu. (whisper) AnotherTruth, we have a national budget, very comprehensive with a total gure of how much money it will cost. Real truth, hii budget tuliifanya bila pesa. They are just mere gures and projections za kule tutapata hizo pesa, Iko hivi, Ni sisi wenye nchi tumeamua kukuwekea wewe mwanchi burden ya kuhakikisha ganji za budget zimeka. next time bei ya mafuta ikiongezwa overnight usistuke jua ni budget unashugulikiaAh! Ah! Pole, Unashower na maji baridi ju token zimepanda bei?, ni pesa za budget tunakutafutia. Na siku ya labour day tukikuongeza mshahara kiasi, jua tunataka kukuweka in a higher tax bracket ndio utupatie more returns. Fanya hesabu!, sorry, acha tukufanyie hesabu. I mean pesa za kulipa mishahara ikizidi pesa za maendeleo, si kuna maeneo ani mlipa ushuru anaumia? . Jiwie radhi mwananchi mtukufu ju kwa kila personal budget itabidi umekata half ndio the other half you fund the country’s budget which will be working on your behalf.But we’re not promising anythingBut for now, enjoy your meal.

The fu truMartin Mwangi(KENYA)July 1st to June 30th, the government calendar. This is where we owners of the sacred country will take you the sacred citizen on a dateRelax, don’t worryThere’s already a budgetFor this relationship of oursOpenness, accountability and public participation is the way. That which you sacred citizen wants will be found, but for now you’ll have to brace yourselfbecause we who own the country have already served the menu we want. However, welcome, welcome to this special buffet, Today, we are serving the house specialty, unnished projects tossed in false promises, huh? You say, you’re used to this dish? Oohh yeah, it’s ‘coz we’ve been serving it for a while so how about we spice things up just a bit! Do you mind some fried half-truths accompanied by half information seasoned with a little bit of secrecy? Firstly you will like the way we present it, on a platter,too good to be true you will nd yourself caught without intending to be. Half-truths served as main truth resulting to half results presented as full results. We will give you the full truth, but not fully(Whispers) ‘Truth is, the budget process is inclusive for every citizen to give views Real truth, the process is inclusive but only to the parties interested in giving views for you. You are in the era of full truths but told in half truths Therefore ask yourself, why should we set a date for public participation, privately? And if at all we have your best interest at heart... then why do the same stakeholders get info, separately? Welcome, it is here that we will give you vegetable rice while we eat pilau rice then if you complain we’ll say be thankful at least you ate. However, for how long shall you live with these half-truths of at least? I don’t know, answer that yourselfThis is a disease you have, and I hope you won’t get someone to cure you. (whisper) Another Truth, we have a national budget, very comprehensive with a total gure of how much money it will cost. Real truth, we created this budget with no money. They are just mere gures and projections for where we will get the money, It’s like this, we the owners of the country have decided to burden you the citizen with the task of raising funds for the budget. next time fuel prices increase overnight don’t be alarmed know you are taking care of the budget Ah! Ah! Sorry, Are you showering with cold water because token prices have gone up?, we are getting budget funds for you. And on labour day if we increase your salary somewhat, know that we want to put you in a higher tax bracket so you can give us more returns. Do the math!, sorry, let us do the math for you. I mean when money to pay salaries is more than development funds,aren’t there areas where the tax payer hurts?. Sacred citizen excuse yourself for every personal budget you will have to deduct half and with the other half fund the country’s budget which will be working on your behalf. But we’re not promising anything But for now, enjoy your meal.Poetry Chaenge 61

62 Poetry Chaenge

Mimi ni nani?Pua yangu haijui jinsi ya kunuka harufuLugha yangu inafunikwa kwa kweli, hakiKwa maana ninasema ni nini hakiNinazungumza kwa haki zanguNinazungumza kwa wale wanaozungumza na kinywa kilichofungwa,Mimi kuua ubaguzi kwa kutumia bunduki ya upendo, usawaNinakataa kulisha haki zangu zimeoza kimya,Kutoa nje ni chakula pekee haki zangu zitakula,Ninawaambia mamlaka kuwaheshimu wa-nawake kwa kuwapa51% Uwakilishi katika Bunge Mimi ni nani?Mimi hupanda kelele nzuri wakatiUnanipiga kwa udongo wa kimyaKwangu;Unyanyapaa wako ni kama impala,Na mimi ni kama simba, haiwezi kuitingishaMimi ni nani?Mimi ni nani?Juu ya ardhi hii ya haki.Ambapo unyanyasaji wa kijinsia ni mshambu-liaji wa mauti.Nilichagua kucheza kwa haki za binadamu kama mlinzi,Kwa hiyoMimi kuzuia, mimi huzuni.Mimi hasira, mimi hasira.Ninamzuia, unyanyasaji wa kijinsiakutoka kubaka kwa kipaji wetu;Wasichana wadogo,Kwa jina langu ni mwanamke!Mwanamke mwenye nguvu!My nose knows not how to smell inequalityMy tongue is covered with truth, justiceFor I speak what is right I speak for my rightsI speak for those who speak with a closed mouth,“shush”I kill discrimination using the gun of love, equality “shush”I refuse to feed my rights rotten silence, “shush”Voicing out is the only food my rights shall eat,I tell authorities to honor women by giving them 51 % representation in Parliament,.Who am I ?I germinate into good noise when you burry me in selsh silent soilsYou call me sinful silly shameful-senseless sarcastic surnames, aka stigma,To me;Your stigma is but an impala, And I am lioness, it can’t shake meWho Am I?Who Am I?On this unfair groundWhere sexual violence is a deadly strikerI chose to play for Human Rights as a defender,SoI block, I disturbI anger, I irritate I prevent him, sexual violence from raping our goalkeepers; young girls, For I am a strong woman, wanting to be protected by the referee; Justice.I am a strong woman! Mimi ni nani?Matthew Na Chindo(ZAMBIA)Wh am I?Matthew Na Chindo(ZAMBIA)Poetry Chaenge 63

64 Poetry ChaengeUmeelezwa kwanini, wewe ni mtu muhimu, Uwe yatima kundini, unazo zako hukumu, Ziwe mali miongoni, unalo fungu sehemu, Hukuachwa upwekeni, uteketee kwa damu, Haki zako mwanamke, zijue ujitetee.Una haki kwenye mali, na kumiliki mafao, Tena uelewe kweli, nafasi kwa yako ngao, Mahari kwako halali, havina hoja vikao, Ndio pendo la Jalali, halizui mshangao, Haki zako mwanamke, zijue ujitetee.Jielewe toka leo, uzijue zako haki, Mirathi ivue ndweo, fungu lako lihakiki, Mola kakupamba cheo, uepuke unaki, Mwanamke matokeo, elimu ni yako haki,Haki zako mwanamke, zijue ujitetee.Una haki ya kurithi, kuolewa na talaka, Usipumbaze hadithi, kwa wingi wa takataka, Mume akiwa dayuthi, muepuke kadhalika, Hadhi yako ya mirathi, usiitie mashaka,Haki zako mwanamke, zijue ujitetee.Hujakatazwa lafudhi, kuchangia mpya hoja, Umbile lako ni hadhi, jihifadhi maramoja, Usichoke jihifadhi, ni haki yako umoja, Shiriki yalo baadhi, zisikuzidi lahaja, Haki zako mwanamke, zijue ujitetee.Una haki ya maisha, uongozi ikibidi, Ni wewe namaanisha, usipumbae zawadi, Ni haki yako maisha, ishi kwenye itikadi, Usiache swali isha, huna haja choma udi, Haki zako mwanamke, zijue ujitetee.Ni haki yako adhwimu, ya wewe kuheshimiwa, Kuthaminiwa nidhamu, utu wako kuujuwa, Jielewe utadumu, ni mjukuu wa Hawa, Tembea toa salamu, usiuchoke usawa, Haki zako mwanamke, zijue ujitetee.Una haki ya elimu, jielewe mwanamke, Kusoma ndio nidhamu, kuukimbia upweke, Usichoke jifahamu, shuleni usibweteke,Zinduka shika elimu, uwe shujaa utoke, Haki zako mwanamke, zijue ujitetee.Zijue ujitetSuphiani Athumani(TANZANIA)

Were you told why, you are an important person,You could be an orphanin a group, you still have your dues,Even if it a part of some wealth, you have a share somewhere,You were not abandoned, to be forsaken in blood, Woman your Rights, know them and defend yourself.You have a right to the wealth, and to own assets,Further understand your place truly, for it is your shield,Dowry is rightfully yours, no meetings needed upon’t,Indeed love is majestic, no surprises there,Woman your Rights, know them and defend yourself.From henceforth know yourself, so as to know your rights,Remove the pomp from your inheritance and ensure to audit your share,God adorned you with prestige, to ward you against hypocrisy,And the outcome, lady, is that education is yours by right, Woman your Rights, know them and defend yourself.You have a right to inherit, to get married and divorced,Do not dumb down the narrative, by multiplying rubbish,If the husband does not see you value, give him a wide berth,Doubt not your place of being a rigthful heir, Woman your Rights, know them and defend yourself.Your accent is not a hindrance, to participating in new issues, Your gender is a quality, preserve your dignity,Tire not of preserving yourself, inclusion is your right, Do not be overwhelmed by jargon, go ahead and participate, Woman your Rights, know them and defend yourself.You have a right to life and even leadership,Yes I mean you, do not be fooled beloved,Life is your right, live within the ideology,Do not give up the question and stay the course with faith, Woman your Rights, know them and defend yourself.It is your glorious right, for you to be respected,To be esteemed with respect, to know your humanity,Know yourself, you are eternal, descendant of Eve,Move and speak freely, do not tire of equality, Woman your Rights, know them and defend yourself.You have a right to education, know yourself woman, With rigour in education you will escape alienationKnow yourself and never tire, do not slumber in schoolAwake and grab education, be brave and go out, Woman your Rights, know them and defend yourselfKnow em and defend yourlfSuphiani Athumani(TANZANIA)Poetry Chaenge 65

Mbona nisisimame maovu yakitawala?Kwanini nikimye Dhuluma zikienea?wanasema utetezi sio kazi, nimekubali.Ya nini kazi kama nadhulumiwa?Ya nini kazi kama nadhulumiwa,Nadhulumiwa kwa sababu ya umri.wanasema mimi ni mdogo kujieleza na kujisimamiaLazima niwe na mvi ndio nitambulike.lazima niwe na mvi ndio nitambulike.haijalishi mimi ni wa jinsia gani.Mke ama mme au nikikosa mwelekeo wa kijinsia naweza jitetea.Kwa kutangamana na #StayWithDefendersKwa kutangamana na #StayWithDefenderspasi kuongelea utaifa wangu au wakoni lazima tutashinda dhuluma zote zinazotukumbahaki lazima itatendeka kwetuhaki lazima itatendeka kwetusio kwetu tu! bali ata kwa wengine wote.wadogo kwa wakubwa, wazee kwa vijanaAtimaye tumepata ukumbi wa kujielezaAtimaye tumepata ukumbi wa kujielezaKujieleza na kuelezana makuu tunayotenda kama wateteziUtetezi sio kazi ndiposa hatulipwi.Utetezi ni hali yetu kila sikuUtetezini hali yetu kila sikusokoni, nyumbani na kanisanikila mahali tutasimamia hakikwa upamoja au ubinafsikwa upamoja au ubinafsikikatiba na kiimanilazima haki idumukwangu na kwa jiraniKwangu na kwa jiranitutashikana kwa pamojaili kubadilisha hali za dhuluma tunazopitiatukikandamizwa kwa kukosa pesatukikandamizwa kwa kukosa pesatukitafuta huduma za kiserekaliwanasema ni chai au kitu kidogonami ntajibu nimebeba ugali ya hakinami ntajibu nimebeba ugali ya hakirushwa sirushi na hongo sitoisiwezizi simama maovu yakitawalaUTETEZI SIO KAZI, UTETEZI NI HALIUtetezi si kazi, utetezi ni haliYoung Okolla(KENYA)66 Poetry Chaenge

Why should I not stand when evil reigns? Why should I shut up when oppression spreads? They say advocacy is not a job, I agree.What is a job for if I am being ripped off?What is a job for if I am being ripped off, I am being ripped off because of age.they say I am too young to speak for myself and defend myself I must have grey hair to be recognisedI must have grey hair to be recognised. My gender matters not.Female or male or if I don’t have gender orientation still I can defend myself.By uniting with #StayWithDefendersBy uniting with #StayWithDefenders without speaking of mine or your nationality We will vanquish all oppression that batters usJustice for us will prevail Justice for us will prevail not us only! But even to all others. big and small, young and oldWe nally have a platform to express ourselves We nally have a platform to express ourselves To express ourselves and to tell each other of the great things we do as defenders Advocacy is not work, we are not paid.Advocacy is our being, daily.Advocacy is our being, daily at the market, at home and in Church everywhere we will stand up for rights together or individually together or individuallyconstitutionally and faithfully rights must be eternal to me and to my neighbourto me and to my neighbour we will hold each other to change conditions of oppression we travers as we are trodded upon for not having moneyas we are trodded upon for not having money while seeking governmental servicesthey say it’s for tea or something smallI will answer I am carrying a meal of rightsI will answer I am carrying a meal of rightsgraft I grant not and bribes I do not giveI cannot stay still when evil reignsADVOCACY IS NOT A JOB, ADVOCACY IS A STATE OF BEINGAdvocacy is not a job, advocacy is a state of beingYoung Okolla(KENYA)Poetry Chaenge 67

68 Poetry Chaenge

Last night I dreamed Louise Michel was standing next to meShe raised aloft a ag and shouted Vive Le LibertyI wanted to stand and ght beside herBut she was on the other side of a borderI guess that when I wake up, I should nd some workAs long as what I do doesn’t cause hurt.I could nd a safe job checking passportsOr I could nd a job checking trucks at the portsInvestigating Visas to match the stats demandsI could get a job locking humans into vansOr burning down the Calais CampsPlanes, handcuffs, detention centres.I hope the human race can do so much betterI know the human race can do so much betterOr: Give yourself to the nightmareAt least you are a citizen of somewhereSalaries and sleep-walkingWhat’s that language you’re talking?All these years and what’s to show?Eat your dreams, spit out the bonesBuild a wall then build it higherTake a life and make it harderIt’s just another nine-to-veDo what you do to surviveGreen and pleasant gangrene cliffsFortress payslipJust follow ordersRed red waters at the borders.If you don’t want dreams will you settle for nightmares?Last night I dreamed the human race was standing next to meWe were splashing silently by the side of a cold seaI wanted a pat on the back, shake a hand, reach just a simple touch But when I tried to paddle, there was a body on the beach.NightmareHenry Raby(UNITED KINGDOM)Poetry Chaenge 69

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Poetry Chaenge 71 Deende tu sangre porque desemboca en tu corazóndeende tu cuerpo porque allí anidan tus palpitacionesdeende tu espíritu porque sin este tu corazón se vuelve nadadeéndete a ti y a los tuyosa ti porque eres los tuyosa los tuyos porque son tú corazónpor eso te repito:deende tu sangredeende tu corazón.Defend your bloodbecause it ows into your heartdefend your bodybecause your palpitations nest theredefend your spiritbecause without this your heart becomes nothingdefend yourself and your ownbecause you are your peopledefend your people because they are your heartthat’s why I repeatdefend your blooddefend your heart.Defiende tu sangreRosa Chávez(GUATEMALA)Defend your bloodRosa Chávez(GUATEMALA)

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76 Poetry ChaengeThe Human Rights Defenders Poetry Challenge is brought to you by:Protection International is an international non-prot organisation that supports human rights defenders worldwide in developing their security and protection management strategies.ProtectDefenders.eu is the European Union Human Rights Defenders mechanism, led by a Consortium of 12 non-governmental organisations active in the eld of human rights.The University of York’s Human Rights Defenders Hub is a space that facilitates dialogue, collaboration and learning regarding the situation of human rights defenders.For more information about Protection International’s work, please visit:Protection.InternationalProtection Internationalprotectioninternational.org@protectionint

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