It's the sound of blaring red sirens,
Innocence shattered on the cold marble ground.
Two bombs were dropped that day.
The one in the building:
The one planted deep within her heart:
Twelve years old
A massacre of bloody words left and right
A flower now wilted,
Petals plucked right off,
Spine hanging loose.
But the ambulance never rushed to help.
It was all her fault,
It was all because of "that thing on her head,"
All because she is a shade darker than red and white stripes and bold stars.
"Go back to your country."
"This is my country."
Five minutes ago she wore her religion as she wore her spelling bee medal.
Five minutes ago she sat on the swings smiling with her friends as an equal.
Five minutes ago no bombs were dropped.
But all that changed when grassy plains and tall buildings were burned to their core,
Leaving them with weak limbs growing beneath a shadow of piled rubble.