Raw Thoughts

 

The world wakes each morning

to the sound of another headline breaking—

not news anymore,

just ritual.

Smoke curling above cities

children can no longer name,

maps redrawn by missiles,

truth buried beneath the rubble.

 

Somewhere, hands are shaking in boardrooms,

signing contracts in ink

that looks too much like blood.

 

And somewhere else,

a mother folds silence into a blanket

for a child who cannot sleep

through the language of drones.

 

Who carries the blame?

 

Who dares to point

when every finger trembles?

 

Israel, armored in grief and fury,

wielding memory like both shield and sword,

turning ancient suffering

into modern fire.

 

Gaza reduced to dust and echoes,

justice obscured beneath retaliation,

humanity crushed

between history and revenge.

 

And Trump—

that carnival king of fracture,

seller of walls and slogans,

teaching nations

how to sneer at compassion,

how to make cruelty sound like strength,

how to turn democracy

into spectacle.

 

He leaves behind

a vocabulary of division—

truth bent into performance,

power worn like a crown

with no sense of its weight.

 

And still the world follows.

 

Leaders speak in polished condolences

while approving shipments,

while calculating alliances,

while deciding which lives

fit inside the margins of necessity.

 

The earth must be tired.

 

Tired of swallowing metal.

Tired of learning new names for old hatred.

Tired of watching flags

wave over broken homes.

 

And us—

scrolling, watching, grieving in fragments,

thumbs brushing past catastrophe

between weather reports and advertisements.

 

What have we become

when outrage expires in twenty-four hours?

 

The children will remember.

They always do.

 

They will remember

who dropped the bombs,

who moved the borders,

who chose vengeance,

who chose applause.

 

And perhaps one day

they will ask

why the adults kept mistaking dominance

for peace.

 

Until then,

the sky remains crowded

with smoke and accusation,

and the world spins on,

wounded but stubborn,

 

waiting for someone

to choose mercy

before there is nothing left

to save.

 

Raw thoughts.

 

Jonah Libertine Gill

©️Libertine13

25/05/2026