the boy wandered the barren streets.
A rock in one hand,
an idea clenched in the other.
He did not know exactly who the opposition was;
the country with the great military
that is ever vigilant to protect their people,
or the community he lived in
that is filled with hatred.
He could not even go to other lands
where Allah was said to dwell.
Places where his brethren congregated to cry
“Kill the enemy,
kill them dead,
drive them into the sea.”
Like a rat in a cage, he was trapped.
His Arab cousins denying him citizenship
in their prized realm. Preferring he remain a scapegoat,
giving them permission to evade their own political inadequacies.
And so he walks, head low, eyes cast
waiting for citizenship, in the land beneath his feet.
Copyright © 2004 Sara Coslett