I Can’t Breathe by Sunanda Shome

“I can’t breathe”, he said.
Over and over again.
The words have been suffocating me.
They were muffled, they came out as gasps, and then they stopped.
These very words have been repeated a million times in a million different ways, haven’t they?

Can we not hear?
Or did we stop listening?

Do you know who else can’t breathe?

The little girl hiding her story of abuse in fear.
The young boy hiding his story of love in shame.
War ravaged men.
Lust ravished women.
The old and infirm waiting for a ventilator.
The young and thirsty walking thousands of miles.

I’m certain at some point in their miserable existence, these words escaped their lips too,
“I can’t breathe.”

“I can’t breathe”, he said.
Over and over again, as if for all humanity.

Can we not hear?
Or did we stop listening?

#GeorgeFloyd – may your passing be a mirror to this world.
The kind that doesn’t cloud up, because we’ve truly forgotten to breathe.
We’ve forgotten to be human, and let another live.

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