As I wrote along, a swarm of words demanding justice gathered around my notebook, all expecting to be called upon. I penned down these few lines giving an idea of the extent of brutality, humanity will unleash on itself. I couldn’t muster courage to post images along as these lines were enough to pass a shiver down my spine.
These babies don’t belong to Fallujah only. Their ownership lies on us with each passing day when silence seems to be emerging as the winner.
|The image of this Iraqi child with six fingers is taken from an article by Dailymail.|
I am a cyclope
a chunk of flesh
dead before I am born.
Mother did wait for whole nine months to see my face,
her endless wait to cuddle me,
to hold me in her warm embrace.
The first glimpse of mine ruined her world as I was dead before being born.
I couldn't even relate myself to the remotest of aliens,
living beyond the essence of time.
I was made a scapegoat while in the womb.
They couldn't win us, couldn't defeat us,
So, they sowed our soil with bombs
to cultivate the progeny as scary as me.
They created me out of little ingredients of war, hatred and Depleted Uranium.
They contaminated our lifelines with their bad bombs.
Here I am as a question mark for the whole humanity that preferred silence instead of life.