"
you claim you are helpless.
you beg for sympathy on
every street i pass.
a minority turned strong
by strong fools and strong plans.
you claim to have a
missing home in
lands far away.
i understand about missing homes.
i sympathise.
yet my feelings turn cold
when you the same
to innocents
you have sprung upon and killed
in cold blood, not losing
a night's sleep.
you rest soundly
as others
miles away
scream for peace
and safety.
as children cry and frightened people vy for
a moment's rest
at last.
you claim to have a missing home.
i no longer believe
or sympathise.
as you take away the very
foundations, homes, origins
of innocents
peaceful and prosperous
until you sprung upon them without a warning.
you are no better
no more merciful or kind
than the one you swear an enemy.
and you set yourselves
a pedestal to stand on,
flaunting your
century-old misery
a tin can for charity.
but i shall not drop a semblance into there.
not a penny or a single shilling.
(starve for all i care)
because you do not deserve this.
you are not helpless
with glass building and explosive weaponry.
you are not helpless
with large armies, a stream of attackers but without a need to defend.
you are not helpless
with a home you have taken away to claim as your own.
"
- YOU DO NOT DESERVE NEITHER MY PENNY OR MY SEMBLANCE OF SYMPATHY.
[ tas wrote this because she hates to see an unfair situation, especially like this one. because she hates to hear the sobs or the stories of deaths too gruesome to imagine or tales told by a friend unable to see the world the same way. ]
YOU ARE READING
qasa'id
Poetrya collection of anthologies written in times of grief, boredom or need for attention. © ray ling [jupitired] all rights reserved