When does the heart break
If not by the loss of a child, from man’s own hands. The ones walking with plastic bags and dirt faces towards another boarder line, with their swollen feet and their open wounds, lost somewhere between fire and water, between burning villages and drowning seas, lost somewhere in the in between.
When do our hearts break
If not by the humiliation of grown men sitting and crying on the streets, pleading to an invisible being, begging the ones he can see for at least a piece of something to eat, if that’s not too much to ask from a man who has seen more of the world we’ve come to be, who has seen us stand above him with two arms folded, bearing nothing and letting him plead.
But when does it break?
If not by the women, walking without their lost children, or the ones who’ve stood up and walked with their infants just after giving birth to them. When will it break? If not by the girls taken between the trees by the army’s men and having their way with them, where she is raped repeatedly, mercilessly and put to her death. Was that too much then? Perhaps for a moment, it will break, for the ones who survive, the ones who can tell us their stories, their truths of the place they came from.
“I from Burma” she said, telling her story of her daughter beheaded in this genocide, where no child is spared and no life is worth a grain of sand.
For you are too brown to speak up for, a muslim and an ‘other’, you are too much of everything this world won’t stand for. Rusted coins in a game of greed, paper is the only currency we see, so you’re tossed to the side by your torturer’s allies.
No-one stands up for the weak.
We have built a cement like structure where hearts should be.
No-one can tell us we didn’t see.
Yet again, we ignore their plea.
I think many of us feel that there’s nothing we can do to help the current state of the world. At times I do too, but there’s nothing more important than this, than helping those who cannot help themselves. It saddens me to think that these children have witnessed more deaths than days they’ve lived. We can all do something, we can say something. Every bit of attention we give to the displaced, to the victims, puts more pressure on governments and world leaders to take a stance and end the ethnic cleansing of the Rohingya muslims in Myanmar/Burma. Please act now and help in whatever way you can: listen to their stories, read about them, spread their truths; they need us. Let not another genocide befall our time.
Related post – Remembering Syria