The Little Terrorist

My screams trickle down my face,

My hurt is entwined with my DNA.

My sorrows and grief take over me,

I look to the fair woman in the opposite seat.

She stays poised and calm, undisturbed.

She has had a nice day, with no relatives murdered.

I remember the little girl I saw on the news,

Her red eyes, her limp shoulders, her bloody red shoes,

This little girl was the terrorist

that the Turks feared and fought against.

She had lost her family to their bombs

Her mother, her father and now her home.

And the fair woman opposite me?

she went back home to her family.



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