“it’s
complicated,” he said.
“I’m not well read.
I can’t support either side, but
they were attacked, right?”
I paused,
tried to smile,
biting my
tongue all the while.
moments
passed, i said:
what colour
is the blood of a child?
red. warm. wild.
does it matter where the child’s from,
a palace, a camp, a slum?
in what language does a child cry?
Does it
matter which flag flies high?
wrong questions, you’d think.
While the world sinks beneath the blood,
And billions watch don't even blink.
babies starving. dying, every day.
simple truth: black and white, not grey.
you say you can’t take a side
while watching genocide.
sorry if
it’s an inconvenience,
our existence, bothering you.
but we’re just like you:
we love, we care,
we laugh, we dare,
we envy, we celebrate,
we grieve, we hate,
we write poems, sing for martyrs,
chant for revolution.
so let me ask again:
what colour is the blood of a child?
Red!
the colour
of Revolution..
what’s the
answer to a world this mad?
One
solution..
Revolution
Ahmad Baker
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