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Old Activism

A thought-provoking poem on the weight of activism and the struggle to keep one's voice alive.

Reflective poem on burnout and disillusionment, capturing the quiet retreat from protest into collective exhaustion and silence.

Painting of an older woman with long white hair, standing barefoot on a wooden soap box at Speakers’ Corner. She wears a simple grey dress and gazes directly ahead, with a crowd of expressive, ghost-like faces in the background. The piece suggests a weariness for life-log protest.

Where did all the verve go?
Instead of consuming and critiquing
She grew ashamed of difference,
And tired of the heights,
The soapbox of sighs and stillness
All the voices taut and unheard
Gasping shallow from the margins.
One step, two steps, what’s next?

Raise that voice until the fallout,
Or fall off onto that sure, soft net?
It’s windy up there on the tightrope…

So she gave herself away
To the heaviness of it all,
The suffocating and suffering amplified.
Rolling into the blanket of the everyday,
She felt the masses surging,
And was swallowed, so comforting,
In their shared silenced shame.

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