J’accuse
For the bullet in the smallest body
For the father burying his son
For the girl who danced — now forever on stumps
For the boy who sang for his land, his voice broken.
For the doctor in the torture chamber.
For the breasts, too empty to feed the child.
For at least 735 bombs dropped on hospitals
For the orchard, charred and abandoned
For the poet’s word, the painter’s palette beneath smouldering rubble
For the journalist’s outcry, silenced
For the light extinguished in a thousand eyes at once
For all the horror — and for the indifference that kills
J’accuse.
And for you who remain silent.
Je t’accuse.
