POEM

 

Where living is political, can death be apolitical

They're telling us to be good victims, to mourn without assigning blame
To quietly grieve the unfortunate - and move on from this tragedy.

In an undeclared massacre, move on is a polite way to say pardon murder.
A man walks into a hospital without beds and comes back in a body bag.
A boy runs to an oxygen cylinder and comes back an orphan.
A teacher goes to school on election duty, and never comes back.

When the state has a monopoly on life and death,
Killing someone is the same as letting them die.
To call this murder divine will would mean the men in power are gods.

Our willingness to forget becomes their amnesty in crime.
To never move on, to demand justice, is the only way to tell the world:
Our dead deserved to live. Deserved to breathe, at no stranger's mercy.