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One out of twenty million;
I was a statistic.
Tattered tents, dusty plains,
Foriegn lands and burdened looks.
Had heard them saying
"If you can't do anything about them,
Kill them!"
My face reflected in mother's eyes.
Wonder'd why tears were always filled in them?
I didn't know what was happening.
Had heard mother's restrained cries
And seen her restricted tears.
And then they came.
Mother screamed.
I was a statistic, I still am;
"Fourteen survive the attack on refugees"
I still didn't die
I am still living
Like the six billion.
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Writer Profile
ali.asghar
I don't write for a cause; I write for meaning.
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Comments
Ricky | Oct 12th, 2004
This is so sad. I really hope your message is heard around the world.
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