By Youma Kromer
How long, how long must you endure
The gnawing void, the endless hunger’s lure?
A stomach’s cry, a silent plea,
For the Bread that never comes, for hope we cannot see.
You waste away, and we don’t care,
Too busy to stop, too much to bear.
Your pain’s unseen, a distant call,
And so we choose not to feel at all.
Your hunger calls us all to wake,
To heal the wounds we choose to make.
It’s easy to forget, so far, so out of reach
But in your suffering, you teach.
We walk our streets, we close our doors,
While you fight to live on barren shores.
We live in luxury, blind to see
That in our wealth, we all are weak.
Do we need to see your bones to feel?
Must we witness to begin to heal?
The orphaned child, the mother’s cry
Does it not tear us when they die?
But we’re too busy, too far away,
To see your hunger day by day.
We say, “It’s not our fault, it’s not our fight,”
And shut our ears to YOUR endless night.
But in our hands, we hold the key
To end your pain, to set you free.
Still,
it’s not too late to wake,
To lift your pain, for mercy’s sake.
Our apathy, our selfish pride
Is it not time to put it aside?
yk