Rebelliousness | sound of bullets | and teargas | |
I stood behind my parents words | their fear | of losing me | |
My mother called | to tell me about the news | she was watching on T.V. | |
I used the dirty mattress in the hospital | where I work as shelter | it didn’t shelter anything | |
Reading about | who’s missing | and who’s murdered | |
Hoping | he’d | answer | |
Everytime | it was | off | |
Needed for this | revolution | to win | |
What’s good of chanting | when everyone who’d chant | with you is dead | |
What’s good of chanting if | the ones listening | are still deaf | |
Still delaying their | empathy or sympathy | to people lost | |
Emotional pain starts numbing | comfort of my bed cursing this survival | I didn’t ask for | |
The purpose of all this was to live | Not to end up dead. | Not to end up missing. | |
Invulnerability | is a | privilege | |
There | it is | still burning |

By: Israa Abbas
Based on: “The 3rd” by Raj Mohamed Bushara