By Vandana Rao
Children duck under school desks,
not for games,
but because someone might walk in,
with a gun.
We call it routine.
We call it acceptable.
Leaders speak like fog,
clouding truth,
selling fear like candy,
while the rest of us,
forget how to feel anything for too long.
A man lies still on a street corner,
and we step around him,
because we're late,
because we're used to it.
The planet coughs.
The oceans choke.
We know it.
We scroll past it.
Somewhere,
a forest is dying in silence,
and the news prefers gossip.
We live in a world,
where girls go missing,
and no one blinks,
unless she’s someone,
we already know.
People trade lives for power,
for profit,
for points in an election.
There are children,
who’ve only known war,
and men,
who’ve only known greed.
In some places,
a human life is cheaper,
than a mobile phone.
In others,
it’s just paperwork.
We grow numb.
We speak loud but say nothing.
Every tragedy,
becomes background noise.
Somehow,
we’ve built a world,
where we scroll through death,
post quotes about kindness,
and return,
to whatever made us feel,
nothing at all.