𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐲

In the silence of the night, I hear ‘em cry.
They are not close to me; they’re well hidden in the dark.
Not even daylight can get to them, they don’t see it.
They have no choice but to fear it.

They are scared of us; they look for good but we choose to shut.
We refuse to open mind, to open our eyes.
To expand our hearing and listen to their cries.

Deep down, we know the truth.
We don’t want to see and hurt;
if we do, it will make it real.
We don’t want to be a part of those.

We pretend we don’t.
We don’t see, we don’t know,
we don’t act to free those who has no voice or power like us.

They can’t fight, they scream,
but it is lost in the dark.
They are held by machines
to burn them alive.

We command it,
we demand their bodies because we are used to the taste.
We pretend that we need it
with our hands in their fate.

We watch their blood in silence. Our hands bleed with our silence.
We don’t have to use the knife;
we pay for them to die.

We pretend our bodies need it. Need them.
Their body, their soul, their blood and mind.
The truth is lost when we close our eyes.

It’s the system, we say. It’s the culture. It’s tradition.
But the reality lies on your plate; it’s a choice we make.