Ameena Jubapu Poet Free verse

Great march

Run

She marched.
No shoes,
just marched —
grey patches on her legs,
stiff and hard.

Metal watching from above,
nowhere to hide,
just to walk.

She cannot sit,
she has to write.
The world must listen to the cries,
but how long can she survive?

The buzzer alerted.
It landed —
landed on her with a thud so wild.

Pen in her hand.
Pen was her guide.

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Alison A Smith October 1, 2026 at 5:54 PM A stark, compelling free-verse poem that conveys endurance, surveillance, and the urgency of testimony through spare, fragmented lines. The repeated marching imagery and the final image of the pen as a guide give the piece both physical weight and a quiet, defiant sense of purpose.