i am old at twenty,

you know our story, child. 

it is terrible and soaked in blood,

some cannot tell it, will never tell it

but I must, else you and your children will

(be made to) forget

our great suffering.

and it is not meant to be forgotten, no.

FIRES BURN. Missiles boom. Men jeer. ali daydreams. Metal screeches.

Fires Burn. Warcraft hover. Women lament. yara broken. Waves crash.

fires burn. Bricks shatter. Boys cry. hassan red-eyed. Birds screech.

   fires burn. Glaring sun. Girls shout. laila glares. Granite crumbles.

they burn. all the bodies. There are children! 

Children, innocents, children, innocents, children, innocents. 

Here and there,

In your home and mine. Yet you scream, scream

For us all to die. 

I have seen your face, and I will 

     remember.

     You are accused of crimes against

     Humanity, 

     and I will 

     Hold you accountable. 

The dead are dead. Let them cry of life, for

us. So we can live, 

live. 

Let the war end. Let the victims come home. Let the embargo/killings/torturing/starving/executions/displacement/

kidnapping/bombing/missile strikes/invasion/(genocide).

end. 

And to the world, to those of you not here or there,

Help us. Help us help them, so we may all live.

         In peace.

How nice a dream, 

Mama. Papa. Sister. Brother. 

I see you, I feel you, I hold you. 

Long cursed is the endeavour of war, now. 

May our children, and their children, and their children 

live freely, without worry. 

without brutalised bodies and ruined minds

from war.

the fires are burning, the children are burning

we are burning, and we remain

damaged, scarred, and broken

but not ash. 

   it is a bad story, you say; I know.

   my mother told me a happy story once,

             about the night sky filled with all its stars

   i will tell you it later, when we are safe, child.

                  until then.