DREAD

How many times haven’t I died waking up?
My cup running over with emptiness
Waking up to a sun clothed in darkness
And drunk streams which have lost their grace
Hands chopped off in a show of tribal supremacy
Sons and daughters of the soil turned fugitives
The Mediterranean vomits; the lifeless bodies of Alan Kurdis
The rare face of peace evades us by every tick of the clock
Grenades flying, barrels smoking
Humanity lost to the triumph of hate
Must I choke anytime I want to enjoy this delicacy?
“Justice is so unjust” cries the downtrodden
Crowning the villain and slaying the victor
Nineteen bullets riddled the tired body of Amadou Diallo
The terrorist is honoured by a bullet at the firing squad
Here is the crime; where is the culprit?—Jack the Ripper
I die; when injustice is justified in the cuddly arms of justice
The air can’t breathe with the constant dose of suffocation
My eyes wish to cry but where are the tears?
My strength wants to fight though ripped of its muscles
This bold fear sprouts from my hopelessness
Hope lies in our bosom and not in the grips of tomorrow
Let there be news of new news!