I was a statistic.
Tattered tents, dusty plains,
Foriegn lands and burdened looks.
Had heard them saying
"If you can't do anything about them,
Kill them!"
My face reflected in mother's eyes.
Wonder'd why tears were always filled in them?
I didn't know what was happening.
Had heard mother's restrained cries
And seen her restricted tears.
And then they came.
Mother screamed.
I was a statistic, I still am;
"Fourteen survive the attack on refugees"
I still didn't die
I am still living
Like the six billion.
« return.