For the Children of Gaza

Where is the Humanity?
By Bisma Parvez

I saw a picture today.

I saw a picture today of a little boy

I saw a picture today of a little boy who looked like my son

Except his face was scruffy; his eyes: bloodshot and puffy

I saw his picture and noticed his pouting lips

He was about to cry. That image so crisp

So crisp in my mind because it affected me so

I saw a picture today of a little boy and I thought, “this could be my son”

Helpless and alone, among rubble and ash

Hearing screams and cries as the bombs crash

Crash down on him, his family, his home

And yet he sits there, afraid and alone!

Because there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,

This boy doesn’t even have a safe place to cry!

Being punished for a crime he didn’t commit

He is crying because he lost his mother

His mother who can no longer hug him, kiss him, and take care of him

This picture I saw, it tore me apart

My heart felt heavy, like a rock

This rock was weighing down inside of my chest

My chest could no longer bear the weight

The weight caused my heart to slip lower and lower

Lower it fell into the pit of my stomach

This rock, this heart, my heart, felt heavy

like it didn’t belong in my body

I wished I could rip it out and throw it away,

not feel the pain that it was causing

I felt the tears rolling down my face without pausing

But my pain can’t compare to the pain of this boy

Because he may never ever again feel any joy

My pain, imaginary because I still have my son

But the true loss is his, he is the one

The one that has no home, no one to care

HOW IS THIS OKAY? HOW IS THIS FAIR?

I saw a picture today of a little boy who looked like my son

and it caused my heart

to turn into a rock

and sink into the pit of my stomach

Now imagine

Close your eyes and imagine

Imagine their hearts

The weight that they feel

The ones who experience the real pain

Not from pictures and videos on Facebook

But from their lives: a killing game

And as I start to shake thinking of this boy

This boy, who looks like my son

WHO COULD BE MY SON
I realize that he isn’t the only one

Hundreds and thousands of children:

left alone

Buried under stone
Dying
Crying

Killed

Blood spilled

Seeing missiles in the sky

Knowing they’re going to die

Receiving a phone call to evacuate

But there is no place that is safe

Covered in blood

Eyes and ears shut

Wishing it away

But there’s no one to say,

“it’ll be okay.”

Because it won’t be okay!

I saw a picture of a little boy who looked like my son

And I can’t tell him it’ll be okay

It won’t be okay!

It won’t be okay until we open our eyes

Until we tell the world

Until we uncover the lies

Until we find humanity

Where is the humanity?

Where is the sanity?

Why so much apathy?

Gaza drowning in fatalities

Surrounded by calamity

Let me speak candidly

Because this is a reality

Where is the rationality

Killing because of nationality

While the world allows this brutality

What kind of psychopathic personality

Has this immense capacity

This disturbing mentality

To allow the bestiality

Of murdering savagely

Children and families
Calling them terrorists, while THEY live under tyranny

How can it be?

That the oppressed are the enemies?

I close my eyes and I think and I think

And my heart is getting heavier as it sinks and sinks

Worrying about this little boy who looks like MY SON

And so I took a breath - BREATHE

And I realize I am looking at a computer screen

As my son walks into my room asking for his toy
And so I return to my safe life, unlike that innocent little boy.