I don't know how not to protest...
As I try not to think of the children washed ashore dead
And the ones with dust all over their face
As the richest country in this world closes its door for the most in need.
There was the 1951 convention I guess - where we had decided to never again turn our backs - never shut out eyes - fresh from horrors of the holocaust our hearts had opened...
..Albeit a little too late
But that was then - and that was for them...
For lives are not equal anymore - or maybe they never were.
I drive by dropping my daughter off, to be taken well care of at a premium daycare. And I pass them - standing rain or shine, freeze of hail with placards narrating conviction to life.
'Save Lives - Save our children'
'It's murder' some read, 'to turn our backs'
I find my mind drifting trying to remember how it had felt... when I had first seen my child's heartbeat. And I am convinced that they are right: as for me, my child's life had started from the first test.
And then, I realize it's all a farce. A fool's paradise rather.
Or a just world where the pronoun is key. The 'our' in Save Our Children.
For lives are not equal anymore - or maybe they never were.
Anxious parents warned me this morning: to not attract too much attention. And friends consoled to not be too upset. Our lives needed to continue. And there are other things to think about.
I tried, really tried, to heed.
But then, I realized, while looking through some posts online,
A child's eye looks at you the same no matter who they are. For they don't know yet that values are subjective. Or that convictions and conventions are not for all.
I try hard to look away from my child's eyes,
In the fear of seeing them instead looking back at me.
The ones who maybe thought we had once cared - when we fought a war for the so called values
Not for revenge, not for resources,
Just out of goodwill we had decided to rage
We couldn't finish it, maybe no one could have
So now it's their mess to clean, their fault for being born into it
To the wrong parents
At the wrong time
For they are not a precious ultrasound, in a womb terrified to have to have them.
They are flesh and blood with feet and eyes, outside the perimeter my God cares about.
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