I rather you be inconvenienced than lose my soul

How do you want them to pray without any hands, or talk without their words?

When their tongue is stuck to the roof of their mouths, and their mind is still at home?

When their stomachs rumble louder than the bombs, what do you want them to do?

How can you say they lack basic humanity, but when put on display,

Ours is the one that is found wanting, every single time?

We have killed and we have slaughtered, and we have watched them die.

When the emptiness echoes louder than bombs, what do you think we should do?

Empty our vowels onto the sidewalks, and hope silence is the key?

I rather scream and bury your opinions of me, if it means life.