Featured Image: Mahmoud Abu Zeid

Am I lucky I am not American?

The guns rattling in my head,

The banners, the posters,

The Black Lives Matter

The kids shaking the country till the government falls to its knees.

Am I lucky I am not Yemeni?

Constantly fighting the hunger, the pain, the hurt,

The world crumbling below my feet,

The death of allegiance to the country I once loved,

The kids with the brightest smiles still plastered on their faces lying on the graves of their mothers whose hearts still ache.

Am I lucky I am not Syrian?

With death right on my door,

Knocking and knocking till the bombs don’t hurt anymore,

The kids in the rocking boats, floating up to the shore,

Unheard, unloved, untouched by the world.

Am I lucky I am not Kashmiri,

The home I once loved made into a prison cell,

The bullets, the fire still raging below,

The people disappearing, like a clock striking four,

The kids running, locking the door, I’m scared I heard them say,

Till I don’t. 

I don’t think I’m lucky anymore,

‘Cause the world is my home,

My neighbors have guns to their heads,

While the governments watch it unfold.

There’s blood on their hands,

Of the ones they silenced. 

I don’t think I’m lucky anymore,

‘Cause the world I was born into,

Is still at war.