Sentimental Journeys

Plumes of fire engulfed the screen.

I felt the burn as I sipped my hot tea with a cold tear trickling down my nose

It’s a cry that doesn’t make a sound but crumbles every atom of my body

Severed limbs strewn across the rubble as though they were dust.

Yet, I sit comfortably on my cosy sofa.

Wailing mothers beat their chests with pain unimaginable to me.

But I am safe in the safety of my blessed home.

A father carried the body of his little son, death of an angel in disguise.

A little pressure on the remote control shows scenes of green peace and celebration.

Changing the scene is as easy as ABC for me.

I can close my eyes and change what I see

But they do not know what it’s like to be free.

A different channel, a different perspective, a different story. 

Palestine burns while another part of the world rejoices.

Palestinian mothers, fathers, children, brothers, sisters, grandmothers, grandfathers, uncles, aunties, cousins, nieces, nephews, friends, neighbours and their families.

No body is safe.

Yet, the world goes on.

Yet, money is exchanged.

Yet, music is played.

Movies are watched.

Life goes on-

And that feels wrong.