I see the baby dying of starvation, dying but lacking dignity to die quickly under the rubble, dying, instead, in a dirty diaper, face dappled in flies, the camera, an all-knowing eye above her, watching, but not intervening, like the rest of us on the other side of the screen, and I watch and burn inside, as hot white flames lap from the pit of my stomach to the drapes of my throat, so that’s why they do it, the ones who self-immolate, the ones who say, pardon me, but I need to explode and the question to the rest of us is, how are you not also ablaze?
Painting Courtesy of Our Featured Artist Fahed Mohammed Shehab
