Aid worker finishes his speech
The audience nods
My gaze drifts
To a grubby and wretched boy
Watching us
Through the cross-knit fence of the camp enclosure.
His hands are cut
From the garbage he rummages
His face sun-burned
From the sunrise to sunset hours
He works.
Meanwhile
A thousand rockets fly in Syria
Another armed group declares war
Earth collides, flesh is displaced
And a mass of humanity flows across
Parched and war-pocked terrain.
Yet, all I see
Is grubby and beaten boys
Leaning across sun-baked wires
Staring and asking in their gaze
Why do you have it better?