A corrupt government built on the backs of those darker or different than them are what make the world go round.
They walk over bridges built by bones, held together by muscles and painted in their blood because who doesn't like the color red?
When do the people get tired?
When do the children stop crying?
When does the entire world stop lying to our faces that the blood we share is spilled on land that has always been and continues to be sacred?
When does my father stop screaming?
When does my mother stop praying?
When do I stop apologizing?
How many times do I tell Allah that he can trade my life with the life of a child in Syria?
When do the bombs stop falling and when do their homes stop disappearing?
When will their leader take 10 steps back because if he takes another step forward, a classroom full of children die and the rest of us are silent.
When does the pain go away?
When do my people get a break?
Oh sweet lord, when do my people get a break?
When can they see the promise land without hearing an explosion just seconds before?
How many children?
How many children get to see you today?
How many civilians did they use to build that bridge I mentioned before?
How many bones that make up that bridge come from those children that can't cry anymore?
How many mothers watched and couldn't help as the corruption seeped its way into the soil?
How many fathers pulled their family from the rubble, only to be reduced to ash and a hashtag?
How many?
How many bridges have been built?
How many bodies were used?
When they decided to build that bridge, how many bodies did they use?
How many people were killed?
How many bloodlines faced deconstruction, all because of this level of corruption?
How many?
YOU ARE READING
Words.
PoetryThis is a book I write in to relieve my mind of the horror it creates for itself. Poems or not, they're words. Definitions or examples, they're words. My words. Read it or not, they're my words.
