genocide needs to end, you complacent fools…

bodies stack like forgotten prayers,
ash clings to the tongues of those who
dare not speak.
your silence—
a currency traded for comfort,
a choir of apathy humming along
to the drone of dying children.

how much blood must drown the sand
before you call it a flood?
how many broken spines,
how many mothers screaming into dust
before your heart cracks open
and spills something real?

you sip your lattes,
scroll past the headlines,
tut-tut at the mess of the world,
then click away—
like a god who does not answer,
like a witness who turned away
and called it survival.

but history is watching.
your name will be written
not in gold, but in shadow.
the ledger of your soul
tallied in the weight of the lives
you ignored.

wake up.
the dead are calling.