Posted in Justice, Palestine, Poetry, Unspoken spoken word


Middle ground

Stretch out my hand

for the little kid from outta town

We both seen war

But I’m sitting here on concrete

whilst you enjoy sirens

that take you to safety


An analogy

You can call it what you want

opposites or my fantasy

Picture it all day long

But this is my reality

Everything is wrong

We are strangers to peace

Pretend to be strong

The grass is greener on the other side of the wall

Well hell yeah coz grass dont even grow here anymore

it’s a fallacy, this thing called peace

they be preaching a remedy  grab a gun and fight the enemy

I’m rambling but rubble is tumbling around me

I halt against the smoke of nuclear weaponry

it’s dangerous to dream, even think of being free

you can’t give hope to kids living with PTSD

and I hear these foreigners tryna speak accents melodramatic

but the arabs sip their tea lounging the leaders stay static

no freedom or peace it’s our homeland that we’re trapped in

they say the Middle East is collapsing, now who sounds like a fanatic?

we running on the beach

playing footy 2014

fisherman’s boys

it’s a nice scene

then we get hit

they think we’re Hamas like we holding weapons

then we get hit

they think we recruits full of venom

we as young as 10 and they killed him alive

now I’m traumatised

I can hardly sleep at night

all I see when I close my eyes is my brother running free

then struck down from a rocket in the sky

it’s misery

trauma centres don’t make sense but they welcome me

I can write it all down but his voice will always follow me

and the world can rally round but when will we have peace?

when will we have peace?

how many more family members do we bury?

how many more little brothers predecease me?

how many more mothers gotta cry for their babies?

how many more times are you gna try and kill me?

it’s a tragedy

it’s reality

it’s my tragedy

it’s my reality




Hi, my name's Aisha and I am 24 years of age. I'm passionate about writing poetry. Sometimes, I don't know how to convey my thoughts in normal conversation but I can spin off a poem about what I am feeling in 5 minutes. Or less. Writing is my thing. Like it is a lot of people's 'thing' and sometimes the only 'thing' that is a sufficient outlet to stop us all from going crazy. There's a lot of pain and anxiety in my poems, but often relief, which I find hard to convey but manage to slip it in at the end with a reference from the Quran or a hadith. If you feel you recognise this same emotional attachment to words, then feel free to read my blog and do not hesitate to contact me, comment and subscribe! Peace, Aisha -a.K.a-

3 thoughts on “Tragedy

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