The Tahrir Square of Self – Michael Roque

April 9, 2026

My soul is Cairo
in 2011—
It’s revolution!

At the Tahrir Square of my very being,
voices have risen
demanding change from the corruption
running rampant
through my many facets of self.

All along my sidewalks,
cars, buses—
flipped,
burnt to a crisp,
unable to help me
flee the chaotic scene—
My governing facilities
looted—
set ablaze.
Smoke plumes flowing from my flesh,
painting the sky a fresh black,
as I inhale deeply
the stench of stinging tear gas
into a burning chest.

I am Mubarak—
I am the people—
I am all of Egypt
cutting rotten chunks out of myself
to a soundtrack of gunshots and human screams.
My police force fires on those pieces,
trying to blow them back in place—
In return,
I charge.
Roll toward them smoking dumpsters—
flaming tires,
scattering the oppression that needs to leave.

And then,
all sounds cease.
My army tanks take the square—
pushing back the beast.