Sound of injustice by Rita Simson Fernandez

Picture taken from Pinterest

Sometimes I ache to write about 

the blood of children mixed perfectly 

with wet earth until their wails 

chime well with the wind in our ears 

as it whoosh past us and all we hear 

is the rustle of delicate leaves while remnants 

of pain and terror get lost in the air; 

a chirp, a whistle.

a sinister energy when we are caught 

in the cobwebs of our thoughts.

I wonder if all the times I felt fear

grip my throat at night amidst nothingness 

are the screams of innocents

dying at the hands of people without guilt

in their directory of feelings,

mere followers with a history of hate,

wolves in cheap “kind” disguises.

Most days, the words for injustice

flesh and fester inside of me, 

boiling with a rage 

that it rightfully deserves, 

a portion of my heart

for the children I fail to save. 

On other days, I let it wash over me,

a powerless ant under a boot,

armed with a few words 

and a reckless courage 

in the face of the end.


You can follow the author on Instagram at: @rita.fernandez.poetry


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