Our sea is made of skeletons
Unburied bones of fragile souls
They say it is a graveyard
Of oppressed voices and unspoken words.
Another funeral, another headline.
They say the blue has turned to red.
With every episode of the same story,
They look for new poetic quotes.
But tragedy is tragedy,
And there’s no poetry in blood.
No music plays when they stop breathing
For no one cares when they’re alive.
And tell me, is she threatening?
That little woman with shaky hands,
She hasn’t slept, you know, she hasn’t eaten.
And her lips don’t know how to laugh.
And will you teach her?
You, that laugh at every joke.
Show her the world she has the right to live in,
Where bombs are just projections of a distant ground.
Because it’s you. It’s your decision.
It’s you, it’s me – but never her.
Life has no symmetry and no perfection,
One’s fate depends on a paper sheet.
It isn’t politics, it shouldn’t be.
Those men in suits with empty heads.
Are they the ones to control humanity
And what it means to have only one life?
Why is the universe not crying?
Why is the world so calm?
We look at them through holograms,
But we don’t look them in the eye.
Are we afraid of what we’d see
Beneath that skin, beneath those eyes?
Because it’s ugly, pain and misery.
And we’re only used to fancy things.
Go on then, make another joke.
We’ll watch them drown beneath our feet.
For we are humans, that’s our nature:
We ignore and we forget.