It is a privilege to say the news is horrifying
When it is not your life, not your reality
It is a privilege to pity those who are suffering
It is a privilege to feel hopeless and helpless
When the world is on fire, to have the space to feel is a privilege
Every morning and evening in the daily news
Countless children slaughtered, schools and masjids bombed
The news is a machine gun firing its bullets
Right into our destarkhan
Notifying us of ever-erupting bloodshed
In our beloved Afghanistan
Schoolchildren blasted to pieces
In the innocent quest of pursuing education
What hope is left, we wonder
Decades of conflict, unrest, ptsd
My loved ones sometimes scream in their sleep
You scream when you learn that
Praying for peace is futile