Gaza

This is not a poem about politics, except insofar as people are politics. So many are caught up in this conflict, a conflict not of their own making, but of their own suffering. I am not concerned here with the political excuses and blame games, but with mothers and children. The true cost of any war is not measured in political points, but in civilian displacement and trauma.

Gaza

My child is forgotten, one of many,
As we trek on, searching for any
Place for refuge, to call home;
Until then we simply roam
Dispossessed. The sky at night
Brightened by the shooting stars:
But these are the harbingers of Mars,
Not cosmic, but man-made,
As rockets come and many slayed;
I will fear the terror by night,
Breaking open in explosive light,
As we cower, and pray for life,
To just survive within this strife;
Rubble of fallen buildings all around:
Aftermath: cries of the wounded sound;
It was another day, and it was bad:
I weep for my children, I am sad,
That no one sees our plight,
And day brings no respite.