They think we're tired. Distracted by the internet again. Commerce is returning, stepping around our Revolution. But we're hungry and we can't ate your reforms. You take day old bread, no, thirty year old bread and wrap it a new napkin.
We can't ate oppression. It chokes. Civil liberties stumble with bloated bellies and skinny arms, sitting in this square. Why can't you hear us, our stomach roar. Perhaps our bones, our taxes and foreign aide make you chew so loudly, we seem silent. Just 1000s of mimes in Tahrir.
The baker, once a military man, serves us dishes his children wouldn't eat. They dine on exotic fare like freedom of travel, economic security, marriage and happiness. Billions of calories are consumed by his family, while we wait.
You hate those peeping in the window. Al Jazeera, reporting on the terrible food you serve us. We can't chew fear. We refuse to ate ourselves into oblivion with your poison recipes.
We have just enough strength to starve. Not ourselves, but your machine which grinds us into flour for your companies. We will starve the regime, week by week, until the baker closes his shop of horrors. Just alittle while longer. God willing.
Photo: "Beer and Wine" taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Pistil)
