THE BLIND BOY TEACHER OF YEMEN
MAIRI JACK

Dark deep beneath twisted iron rods
and black-burnt concrete rubble
the little green shoots
persistently propagate —
one surging the strongest
although he would never see
dazzling light of sun
or firebursts of explosives
falling on the children
of war-torn Yemen —
who in their clamour
for a school, for education
are dodging sniper bullets,
starvation and missiles
as our Western children
dodge pitfalls in their
Super Mario games.
This blind boy Ahmed
at only nine — is teacher —
and in the shattered shell
of what was a school —
lights on knowledge
inside his head
to chant past lessons to playmates.

We need walls he says
to keep the rain
from falling on us
doors and windows to keep
out the wind and sun —
and as he talks
the rattle and boom
of gunfire and bombs
pierce the acrid air.
We want a blackboard
and things that are not
broken by war.
Ahmed grins from
ear to ear and as the
sounds of war continue
marks each blast with
a laughing eek. But Khulood —
one of his pupils, sighs
Image by Vladyslav Huiv
we arrive in danger and we
leave in danger —we want to learn,
to be with our friends.
Playing in the shrapnel
these indomitable innocents
now read - UK branding on bombs.

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