three empty pedestals

a bullet pierces
the still of the night
flares light up
the darkened sky
the street littered with
tear gas shells
spent
having done their masters bidding.

then
just before the milkman stirs
a wizened man
is seen determinedly
sweeping the shells away
two friends join him
one pulls up
the blanket slipping
from a sleeping farmer’s shoulder
and the other moves through the ranks
leaving behind a note
of comfort
of resistance
under each makeshift pillow
and a small little book
in the crook of a child’s arm

they move with practiced ease
they have seen this suffering before
they have stood steadfast
against the bullets of the then tyrant
only this time its one of our own
they realise their work is not done
there is still much to teach and do
they step into the fog filled fields
they re-join the fight for freedom

the dawn heralds
a new day
the townsfolk wake up
to the sight
of three empty pedestals