INKPOT
November the 5th Thinking of the fireworks outside Blasting off in quick succession Like missiles And Bullets How privileged am I That I can listen to these sounds And know They are producing something beautiful A plethora of colours across the sky There are many that can’t say the same. In Gaza, These sounds mean the loss of a home. A legacy, a life Reduced to rubble and tears. In Palestine, Children shake their fists At the sky Inviting explosions For throwing some rocks.
The world loves to celebrate The West loves to forget Or ignore – I can’t decide Which is worse.
In Syria, Babies are woken from sleep. They cry in tandem With the sound of the guns.
The fireworks don’t sound So Comforting Anymore. They sound bloody And Broken As they light up the dark Painting the sky With a mural of guilt.
- Khadijah Majid
Illustration by Saif Ul Alim Ahmed
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