I carry, alongside my ribcage...

I carry, alongside my ribcage and all that is encased within, the weight of this city
Dear lovely brethren who slay and are slain
How you suffer
How you both birth breath and impale yourself
How you misconstrue your irony
How you set foot and set path and set right in pursuit of beauty
How you are missing your mark •

War has no other purpose than to provide wealth, status, and power for the dominant classes. Human lives are expendable. The pain, suffering we feel - nothing. Our blood - worthless.

Wars can be worldwide or citywide. The players are the powerful and the powerless. Who will win? Who will survive to see another day?

I will never understand the killers of the innocent, but I do understand the perseverance of those who struggle. I understand the deep breaths, the panic, and the never-ending tears. I understand the attempt to lengthen one's life. Just. One. More. Day. At least.

And if you are one of these innocents who struggles, I hear you, I see you. And I understand.
The righteous will win in the end. Guaranteed. Never give up. •

Poem from Four Years in Chrysalis
© Aisha Tariqa Abdul Haqq Publishing
Follow @AishaTariqa for more daily poetry •