Dear Hypocrisy, Later.

Photo by Sergio Rodriguez - Portugues del Olmo on Unsplash

He says I should write,
But what’s there to say?
I wrote about hypocrisy,
Just the other day,
I found in me a hypocrite,
The feeling couldn’t stay.

If I may?

They were talking about stones.
The proportionality of bombs.
And what came first.
And who’s going home.

Talk and talk and talk,
A bunch of fancy snarks,
And a few hazy snorts.
I hated in silence.
And then I had to walk.

But then, just then.
I stumbled upon a mock
of justice and hope.

I just wanna be a doctor,
She said before her home
Broken and torn.
Because proportional bombs.

I thought,
She hoped.
If she gets to grow,
She would save her folks
From viruses and strokes.
But she sobbed.

Because she didn’t know
What to do and how to fight
The bombs and the airstrikes.
They fail her, they scare her.


The ten-year-old girl.
With no home,
But stones.
She knows she’s a kid.
We don’t deserve it.

Ah, her anguish.
No one deserves it.

But I don’t know.
I don't know what to tell her.
There’ll be more bombs, dear?
I hear you, there, there?
That time heals wounds.
But we’ll forget you soon.

You see,
there’s nothing to say,
And it’s just another day.

Author’s Note: Stones or bombs?





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Zainab Jafri

Zainab Jafri


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