By: Hadiya Abdelrahman

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She held her child and tilted her head towards the sky
And she pleaded,
“help”.
She cut a piece of her sleeve and tied it around her bleeding daughters
head, and hummed a tune that only pleaded,
“help”.

Meanwhile, across the ocean, Ahmad got ready
For his big day.
That tie is too loose, he’ll need to buy another one soon.
His shoes, shined to perfection, fit perfectly. Today, he’ll be an active American citizen.
He’ll vote and he’ll campaign and he’ll shake
hands with the important people, and he’ll
smile at the right camera,
and the flash will show his bright smile.
When something begins to affect you personally,
you must be part of the change.
You, you, you.
I, I, I.

Somalia.
She closes her eyes and she places her hand over
Her baby son’s mouth
“please God, before you take his soul, send a miracle,
Don’t make me do this.
I beg of You”.
Her shoulder shakes and shakes as she tightly grips his
Little mouth- tearless sobs that shake the earth as her baby
Loses consciousness and finds his way behind the sun.
Its better, Ya Allah that you have him in heaven and have
him eat from its fruits than me seeing him disappear
In front of me.
The food truck will come soon.
I have faith.
They’ll come.

Meanwhile, the Prince of the oil wells purchases a new yacht.
This time it will be different.
We’ll purchase a new mansion by the water,
And make sure it’ll have a little personal port for
Our new water ride.
Yes, yes. Bring your friends.
Are they young, and blonde, and as beautiful as you are?
Yes, all expenses paid. I’ll even buy you all new dresses.
A blank check.
For your pretty blue eyes.

Afghanistan.
He sits near his grandchild’s gravestone.
“I hope this weather won’t make the flowers die.
Allah, make the harsh weather pass over Hasan’s grave.
He shares his stories with the flowers, and they tell me how he’s doing.
I don’t want him to not find me there to laugh
at his tales.” Just let it pass.
Later on the day, he limps to the nearest aid building
to bring some wheat home to feed Sarah and Zahra.
“Maybe this time, they’ll give me some light to put back into their eyes.
They’ll stop asking why their mother isn’t coming home.”

Meanwhile,
Everyone else pleads to be accepted.
I’ll give you my money,
But just hold me into your arms
And cradle me the way you seem to cradle your own kind.
I’ll ignore their third world pleas, just make me become a part of you.
I am you, you are me.
‘help’ I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME.
‘HELP.’ ACCEPT ME.
‘HELP.’

No one hears them over their own voice. It dwindles in volume. Then dies.

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