Don’t turn away from Palestine,
they will not simply “be fine.”
You are so willing to turn a blind eye,
just to protect your pride.
You’ll mumble about peace to keep face,
whilst continuing to ignoring a genocide.
Little kids should be able to just be kids,
tea parties, grade school and playing ball.
Instead too many young molding minds last memories,
are watching the endless bombs fall.
Mothers cradle lifeless bodies,
wailing out in torturous sorrow.
What exactly are you praying for?
If not for countless innocent lives to have a tomorrow?
No child should have to beg for help,
pleading for their last chance.
Only to lose hope waiting for no one,
because of cruelty eradicating her heroes in an ambulance.
No infant should be born expelled from a mother’s dying womb,
only to be discovered hours later,
with no breath of life.
The fallen walls of a kitchen their tomb.
Why must history repeat itself in the worst of ways?
Have we not learned to embrace our fellow human,
After the pain of a thousand broken yesterdays?
How can we watch people starve to death
when we can freely feast at home.
We do not struggle to take our last breath,
as we curl into our loved ones in front of glowing TV sets.
We are no better than we were,
If we choose willful ignorance over human existence.
Now is the time to fight for the suffering,
and truly form a resistance.
Open your eyes, open your mind,
stop closing yourself off to a genocide.
About the Creator
Josey Pickering
Autistic, non-binary, queer horror nerd with a lot to say.
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The Road to Nowhere
Trigger warnings: Violence, Death. "May the Sun burn your tongue out, woman," Fredrick's father screamed the curse into his mother's ear as their elegant little carriage rumbled along, its polished wood and gilded trim glinting in the torchlight. They had just left the small village of Saffron and were on an unnamed road to the capital for the Royal wedding. Fredrick leaned back in his plush velvet seat to escape into the passing landscape, but across from him sat the servant boy, a scrappy lad named Jack. Jack's eyes held a mixture of awe and fear, the kind that only a commoner could feel in the presence of nobility. Jack looked up and caught Fredrick's gaze, offering him a sad little smile before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a little caramel treat. This candy was no doubt stolen from the kitchen treat cupboard; if he was caught with it, he would be locked in the box as punishment.
By Frank English8 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
THIS. Thank you for this. For putting this out there. I'm appalled at the quietness on Vocal. You'd think more people would stand/write up to genocide. It's scary to see true colors play out and how many just look the other way and encourage this ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. From the river to the sea, may Palestine be free!
Breathtaking and heartbreaking