Poetry

A Land Far Away

January 5, 2015

Bombs drop above their heads.
People panic. Will it end?

Most don’t wait to see.
Instead, they run far
To the land of hopes and dreams,
A land of safety,
And a land of hidden poverty.

As ugly as it may be,
This land holds opportunity
For the world’s poor,
The world’s sick,
Even for those like you and me.

“Life is hard here too,”
My mother always says.
“But at least there’s a roof above our heads.”

No decapitated bodies on the streets here.
No parents sending away children out of fear.

It’s the land of the free
And the home of the brave,
A land of division
And a land that pervades.

You see,
This land is guilty.
It has blood on its hands.
With its neoliberal gimmicks
And capitalist ideals,
It’s impoverishing the masses
And killing the fields.

I don’t want to sound radical,
But the system is broken.
How do some live in mansions
And others out in the open?

No more bombs and no more fear.
We need a revolution.
We need to persevere.

– ylf –

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