A Ceasefire for a Genocide, He Begs

It's time for this war to end
the old white man said standing
on land irrigated with the
blood of forty thousand, blood
of mostly women and children.

It must end, for just six hours,
words wafting over rubble,
drifting through hospitals now
only morgues, whispering
through schools the children lie
under instead of learning in,
whirling through evacuation
camps evacuated by bombs.

It's time to end this war
the old white man pled, gripping
the lectern while talking
about a country he denies
exists, just grounds now holy.

And the man who drops his bombs
shakes his head, not yet, not yet.