A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Tonight I can write lines sadder than Pablo’s.

Write, for example, that children in hospitals
are being shredded by explosives
as the world looks on.

Write that others are crusted in blood
and concrete dust, as they search the rubble
for even a piece of their parents.

That doctors, my colleagues, 
called for direct attacks on the sick, 
and on their colleagues who were caring for them.

Tonight, I can write the saddest lines:
it seems the hippocratic oath is yet again a casualty of war.
Whatever happened to ‘first, do no harm’?

We sat in high school history classes
and judged.  How could people not see?
How could people not act? It would never be us,
we said.

But tonight, I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, that I feel impotent,
sitting here on the other side of the world, 
scrolling tumblr, and witnessing your heartbreak.

Write that the sorrow wells up within me
and runs down my face, but I know
my tears are of no use to you.

Write, because when I feel something this deeply,
I must make some attempt at recording it.

Write that you are seen, and that this will be remembered,
and that the truth will be known,
but I know that is little consolation
for what can only be labelled genocide.

Tonight, I write the saddest lines ever written:
we are witnessing war crimes and yet we go about our day.