The proliferating number of airstrikes have led to minacious livelihoods for many. A lot of disturbed residents are speaking out publicly about homes destroyed and family members killed by air strikes that have relied on outdated intelligence or poor targeting.
This is one such boy who is narrating his tale of misery. I hope you hear his plea.
My house got burnt last night
Yes, I’m the kid who got a thousand shares and a bazillion likes
Pity, the likes don’t help and the shares don’t pay
Yet I thank Twitter and Facebook,
Atleast I got the fame.
Last night was a fairy tale
There were shooting stars
That turned into traumatic fire balls
Raiding our halls.
I sat all night
Talking to the stars, whining
Pleading my mother to talk,
God! No I’m not a loon
She had told me,
Everyone who went away,
Went to live beside the moon.
CORRECTION: They told me, ‘It’s an airstrike
And not shooting stars, you buffoon.’
Buffoon is all I am in your world.
Yes, that’s not mine.
I’m the THIRD WORLD
Isn’t that right?
I wish I never woke up to a world like yours
Where disaster is only given publicity
And a page in National Geographic.
Where only when the terror strikes
Does the world awake
Holding candles and the much influential internet
But you shall share and put forth your sympathy
That empathy you all show.
Your unwonted care
Keep it to your end
Yes, this is meant to offend.
I live in a world of terrifying misery
Your world is obscure to its treachery
Who are you to us?
Instigators of more torture?
Debaters at the United Nations?
(Also, thank you UN,
I have a refugee camp because of you,
And an unknown family of mourning people to talk to.
Your world doesn’t cease to astound me
You are so rich in hypocrisy
I wish u had a little more humanity.
I wish more that my tiny voice
Is heard in your States of Unity
Thank you, once again for the fame,
But now, only justice will end this game.