Pocket Change

The little girl's mother

is dragged away and raped.

The little boy at the age of four,

is taught how to use a grenade.

The father is beaten for speaking out,

the mother walks miles for a drink.

Our fever feels like death,

while the village is plagued by malaria.

Their government is oppressive

despotic,

abusive,

while teenagers tweet insults regarding their leader.

Our children skip school

as their children fight for the hope of a better future.

Privilege.

This is privilege that can only be seen

through lens clear of insularity.

We toss it out like pocket change

as other countries chase after

the rolling coins.

 

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world

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