Archive for November 19, 2017

a child of war and terror

a child of war and terror

as she lies bleeding,

the girl who skipped, hopped to school,

all of nine and a half years old,

with ribbons in her hair and a laugh that was her father’s pride.


as she lies bleeding,

shrapnel lodged in her torn stomach,

she stares at her skipping rope,

blood soaking it the colour of cherries her mother buys.


as she lies bleeding,

she sees human shapes all around, thick in the black smoke,

blurred visions of scattering feet, 

shoes left behind,

hearing nothing but the pinging in her smashed eardrums.


as she lies bleeding,

she slips away and then she is dead,

a mangled heap of a nine and a half year old girl,

whose laugh was her father’s pride.



as she lies bleeding,

even in death she bleeds some more,

shrapnel wedged in her torn stomach,

stealing the light from her bright innocent eyes.

as she lies bleeding …

in jallianwala bagh in ‘19,

johannesburg in ’93,

leningrad in ‘42,

freetown in ‘98,

soweto in ‘76,

beirut in ‘85,

hanoi in ‘68,

st. bernadino,














aleppo still.


as she lies bleeding,

a little nine and a half year old girl,

whose laugh was her parent’s pride,

we know she’ll bleed more,

tomorrow and in many tomorrows yet unborn,

with shrapnel in her stomach,

ripped open and torn.


as she lies bleeding,

a child of war and terror.

as a former refugee, the child of political refugees, this scribble of mine resonates deeply within me, and reminds me always about the plight of those who have been displaced from their homes for the far too many cruel reasons we witness in the world around us.

The Immigrant …

Seeking solace. Seeking a home.

The immigrant finds, rotten prejudice.

Fungal anger.

The immigrant, alone, hoping for,

A solitary chance.

To belong.

The immigrant, alone,


an outside entity.

Eternal outcast.

A viral threat.

A reeking odour.

The immigrant, ever alone,

and alone knowing,

that no place exists,

but that lost home …

War Clouds Gathering …

the fear is palpable,

sweaty, reeking,

stagnant, primal.

the spectre of thermonuclear war,

the ravenous vultures circling overhead.

all at the switch of a button.

infantile lunatics at the ready, exchanging taunts, rotten school yard bullies,

while the rest of us,

the people, forced to hear the terrorising drivel and spewed vitriol of ad libbed threats,

of the hubris of dictators,

whose people starve,

engaged in their machismo, their infantile game, their egos puffed and swaggering,

their testosterone fuelled male ugliness putting on an obscene, murderous show.

they have rested easy,

ensconced in their grotesque wealth,

cocooned and coddled,

while countless souls sleep hungry and wanting,

while numberless souls slog for minimum wage.

these men are unspeakably dangerous,

unhinged, seeing this world of ours as their fiefdom,

devoid of humanity,

brimming with twisted, smug arrogance.

we the people, can not,

should not, and must not sit silent,

lest we be complicit by being mute.

we the people,

can not, should not, and must not allow our indignation to be squashed.

we the people, have for far too long,

been battered blue by the actions of such men,

always men,

who have rained death and destitution and destruction upon millions.

we the people, can not, should not, and will not, 

sit quietly on the sidelines, as these men attempt to lead us to the precipice,

the brink of horrific suffering for our fellow human beings.

we the people, can not, 

should not, and will not allow our voices to be hushed,

our collective outrage to be beaten down,

for we are now in the deep,

murky waters of hate,

and unless we rise as one,

we doom ourselves to choke, gag,

and drown …

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