Move on

Suffering
deep in the heart
hiding out —
no one cares.
We are passerby's
giving brief glimpses
like taking a photograph
and moving on.
We smile and greet
one another
in synagogue, church, and mosque
and move on.

The widow sits alone
mourning
wondering when she dies
how long before someone calls
she has gone missing
long before she will die.

The teenage boy
hunched over a bright screen
in a dark room,
he can hear his mother
yelling outside,
he is transfixed
on the video game of death,
not understanding
why he feels so empty inside —
would anyone care if he dies,
maybe suicide.

Watching scene after scene
of live genocide,
the maniacal soldiers dancing
in women’s underwear
after the family was slaughtered,
does anyone care?
We moan and pray
the murderous senseless
slaughter goes on,
and the land of Palestine
is up for bid
as if its people didn’t exist —
just move on.