We Didn’t Know

“Wir haben es nicht gewusst,”

they said—

eyes wide with the kind of fear

that only arrives

when history looks back at you

with bloodied teeth.

But this time,

it was broadcast

in high definition.

This time,

it burned in real-time

on the black mirrors in your hands

while you scrolled past

children turned to ash

to double-tap a dance.

You didn’t know?

You didn’t look away either.

You just

looked through.

Genocide as background noise,

as white phosphorus rained like deadly manah

on tents that bore no arms,

on hospitals that held only hope.

But you had brunch to eat,

a latte to sip,

a TikTok to film

with a revolution filter

and a trending sound.

The empires need to fall—

and we

are the bloated belly of Rome,

laughing at the clowns

as they bleed in the Colosseum,

as long as there's

bread and games,

bread and games,

bread and—

Gaza screams,

but it’s not viral enough

to matter.

You couldn’t sit with the shame

of your privilege,

so you renamed it

“balance.”

You equated rubble with rockets,

children with soldiers,

occupation with “complicated.”

You called it war.

It was a massacre.

And when the earth finally shakes us off

like lice,

when the last server dies

and the screens go black,

we will walk into the apocalypse

smiling at cat videos,

face-tuned into oblivion,

saying

we didn’t know.