If I were God, no tyrant’s fist Would strike the world and call it law. No throne would stand on broken backs, No crown be forged from cries of pain. The fattened few who drink from veins Of those who toil, who starve, who break, Would wake to find their golden feasts Had turned to dust upon their tongues. No child would fade to hollow bone, No mother beg for crusts of bread, No fa...

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We carry wounds which no one sees, Stripped bare by the world's quiet indifference. A life lost, forgotten by time's cruel hands, Moments of sorrow fade beneath others' noise. A bomb bursts, its weight unseen, And the rubble settles—no one comes to mourn. We sit with our aching bodies, Alone in a world that turns its back. A sickness takes root, And the world moves on—too busy, too ...

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