The Different
Every time your blood flows,
Your soul crosses into difficult passages,
Just to glimpse your monitored pain…
On Al Jazeera’s screen.
And as you raise your finger,
Uttering your testimony,
You judge all the hearts of people
Into believing you are…
Different.
Is this because you are deluding yourself…?
And pretending to be…
A kid expert at death?
Poor soul.
They, my son, spare no one—
Neither children, nor youngsters,
Nor the guardians,
Nor the elders.
And turn off the television now,
Lest you find me…
Getting dizzy.
