May Day

May Day: May the workers of the world sleep deeply through the night without dreams of drudgery and slog. May the encumbering doom of debt and poverty be lightened for a day. May our insufficient meals fill our bellies and our children not cry out in hunger. May every mother’s childbirth go without complications and those with young child, let their breasts swell with milk. May we reject this alienation by meeting eyes with our comrades and dredge deeply for a smile knowing we toil the same berth, under the same sun, with the same two hands. May we be internationalists thinking beyond borders, religions, and ethnicity. May we consider Mother Africa—envisage this Earth and all her living things and our relation to them. May our pains—our sickness—our apathy smother under the weightiest of all human love. May we feel as one, remembering our power and our potential. May we not abandon political prisoners confined in cages, punished for fighting for our equality and freedom. May we hear the whispers of our ancestors on the wind at our backs, nudging us forward. May we not concern ourselves with victory or failure, but permanent praxis and pedagogy. May the fear, which paralyzes us, melt in the honeyed rain of solidarity. May we find our vision, our assurance, and our endeavor for utopia. May we move forward with the knowledge of the suffering wrought and confront our collective shame by social restitution instead of popular culture and pharmaceutical drugs. May strikes flourish all over the world, people standing on the streets and roads singing together the ballads of revolution.