Sunday, April 5, 2015

An Unfortunate Parallel

I woke up this morning at 7 o’clock... Many children in the world did not wake up at all today

Instead, they fell asleep to lullabies of bombs and gunfire,
The harmonic cries of mothers watching their children drown in their own blood.
A lullaby without a beat; the beating had come earlier in the day.
When I was 7 years old, I played with a baby doll and ran in the hallways from a friendly janitor.

Just an ocean away, 7 year olds run from the bloodthirsty soldiers,
Their dolls long since burnt in the flames with their blankets and pacifiers.
Not only robbed of their homes, but robbed of their innocence.

When I was 9 years old, I attained the lovely “gift of womanhood”; I was indifferent to it.

Thousands of young girls cry in despair on the sight of such a gift.
To them, this gift is a monthly curse, promising even more pain.
Clenching that, impossibly almost, extends past the clenching and churning of their empty stomachs.

At the age of 16, I graduated high school and thought that that made me a mature 16 year old.

I forget about the 16 year olds that work 11 hours a day to put food on the table.
I forget about the 16 year olds attempting to raise the 4 four children their parents had left behind.
I forget about the 16 year old beggars constantly being deprived of their birthright: happiness.

At the age of 26, I hope to have successfully graduated medical school, to be a wife.

Halfway across the globe, there are 26 year olds working day and night doing the dirty work,
For dehumanized masters set on dehumanizing their slaves, I mean servants.
And yet, these 26 year olds are considered lucky.

By the age of 30, I hope to kiss my child’s cheek before watching him run to his school’s gate.

Some 30 year olds are as helpless as bed-bound 97 year olds,
Helpless in privileging their children with the art of literacy,
Helpless in finding time amidst digging potting soil and digging graves to spend with their children before their energy drains.

By the age of 45, I pray to have a stable career and thriving health.

Sad as it is, and it really is, I have seen 45 year olds accumulating wealth, yes,
But from the change of people carrying bags upon bags of luxury at bazaars;
Wishing they had had their rightful luxury of an education.

By the age of 80, if I see it, I hope to be retired, sitting in the comfort of a cozy cottage like in the fairytales I would read to by grandchildren.

In countless places across the world, people are downright lucky to make it to eighty.
With filth and disease spreading like wildfire in the crowded rotting streets,
Their flames don’t only engulf the elderly, but extend to their young families, cutting their lives incredibly short.

After I die, I hope to leave a legacy, to be remembered.

Many people are not as hopeful as I; they have been forgotten long before death.

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