This poem is about world leaders and their lack of empathy for war torn countries and countries experiencing genocide!
In a tower of gold, he sits high above,
Where marble halls echo no cries of love,
Screens flicker stories of dust and flame,
But he sips from gold, untouched by shame.
Children run where bombs have wept,
Mothers wail for the sons they kept.
A land torn in two by faith and by fire,
But his gaze is cold, devoid of ire.
He tweets of stock and pageant pride,
Of walls and wins, of “us” and lies.
Yet not a word for the dying dove,
No tears for peace, no talks for love.
The Olive Tree burns in Gaza’s night,
Jerusalem trembles without a light.
But he counts his coins and signs with flair,
Deals made not for justice but for billionaires.
He posed with flags, with scripted grace,
Then turned away from the bleeding face.
For every prayer that rose in pain,
He offered silence, loss and even disdain.
O leader once crowned with a voice so loud,
Where are you now as they bury the crowd?
Power is hollow without a soul,
And history watches, keeps the scroll.
The world may forget what he did not say,
But graves remember each silent day.
And the children 一一 what of the ones that die?
Their ghosts will question, and ask God why.
But where were you, when the skies fell red?
And all you cared for, was power instead.