Imran Batra: Imagine

 

I wrote this poem after the death of a young boy named Aylan. A death that signified the need for the Syrian genocide to end; the need for these “immigrants” in Syria to be recognized for the refugees they really are.

A young boy on an overcrowded boat

Lost at sea, trying to find a place to call home.

Imagine the vessel starting to crack, capsizing slowly…

Imagine the dim, distant moonlight, the night sky, filled with fireflies, fading away;

The last moment of a three-year life…

 

Imagine

A young boy washed up on the Turkish shore

His soft cheeks rubbing against the rough gravel

The boy’s father opening his mouth to find silence, unable to believe what he sees!

Imagine the boy’s mother and brother–resting, still, at the bottom of the seas.

Imagine

 

Aylan was just one of many on that boat.

For all we know, there may be millions of children drowning right now!

We just saw what was veiled from us, and we started ranting and raving about it all!

Well, it’s been over a month now, and nobody remembers!

 

What will become of this world if we carry on like this?

Will these incidents even matter?

Because we say that we care, and we do, for a week…

But then this story gets buried under television, Youtube videos, books, and our Facebook newsfeed

And Aylan is forgotten; embedded in the subconscious depths of our distracted minds.

 

CHILDREN ARE DYING, CAUGHT IN THE CROSSFIRE;

IMAGINE!

 

This is our society–our day, our night

Bloodshed everywhere, it’s a global trend!

Violence seems like a never-ending hell everywhere we go.

 

 

Don’t you ever feel like ending it?

Leaving this contaminated world?

Do you have any desire left, desire to live on this godforsaken planet?

Do you want to end this nightmare?

 

Or do you want to stop this madness,

Fix the world for generations to come?

We’re stronger than we think we are, at least as a whole!

We can change the world if we want,

We can move mountains!

 

We ARE the society!

We’re modern gods, you and I!

While erasing violence, we’re the eraser

While pulling the trigger to end inhumanity, we are the finger!

While rebuilding this society, we’re the mortar!

We’re the medicine for this world, not its virus!

 

We couldn’t save Aylan, but we can make sure there are no more like him…

 

Imagine a world with no boundaries, no disputes, no genocides, and NO MORE DEAD CHILDREN WASHED UP ON BEACHES!

Imagine…

 

Imran Batra is fourteen years old and studies in Class IX at Step by Step School, Noida.

 

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Imran Batra: The Letter

They say that people are judged by what they leave behind, not what they were…

Well in that case, I can’t be judged.

Would you have liked me, I think?

Would you have taped my first walk, my first word, my first birthday?

Would you have helped me out in bad times,

And rewarded me in good ones?

Would you scold me for stealing biscuits from the top shelf, at 12 o’ clock at night?

Or catch me, help me and share my delight?

Would you see me off everyday, to school?

Would you laugh, when I’d smell your brownies and drool?

Would you be proud of your daughter?

Would you treat me like a queen?

And would you know I’d love you even if I had called you mean?

Would you cry of happiness, seeing me graduate?

And clap the loudest, when I’d get engaged?

Would you hold my hand when I’d be sad?

And keep your cool, never get mad?

Would you love me the way I’d love you?

Well, now, we’ll never know.

If only you had said you wanted a daughter,

If only you would’ve let me live,

We could have been happy,

But you chose abortion instead…

 

Imran Batra is thirteen years old and studies in Class VIII at Step by Step School Noida.