Non-Enemy Combatant

The following is a poem about Omar Khadr, the only western national not to be repatriated by its host country from Guantanamo Bay. This is due to the utter incompetence and blatant disregard the current Canadian government has for its own citizens. Khadr was interned at age 15 and he is now 21.

Hooded and bound I sit in my prison cell,
While my mind plunges into the darkest depths of hell.
I hear the devil mock me with his ominous knell bell,
While I gravitate towards demons dressed like military personnel.
They exorcise my soul leaving just an external shell.
I yell in despair and bid my previous life farewell.

I sigh

The demons infiltrate my mind for information.
Like cockroaches scurrying for food during an infestation.
Like the CIA plotting scenarios before an occupation.
They bribe me endlessly to force my participation.
But I cannot help them much to their resignation.
Then I remember the water-boarding, sensory overload, and sleep deprivation.

I lie

In my dreams the devil talks to me with a crooked grin.
Telling me how I was born of original sin.
He then shows me a vision of my dead conjoined twin.
Frightened, I think of my mother's sweet caress and soft skin.
Playing soccer with my brothers and how they'd always win.
Wondering if I'll ever get married and have a next of kin.

I cry

As I read the Quran to appease God's wrath against me.
The tears from my eyes flow like the mother of a slain Iraqi.
Creating an ocean of sorrow saltier than the dead-sea.
I dream of the moment when I am set free.
I dream of the moment when I can shout with joyful glee.
I dream of the moment when I'm no longer a detainee.

I try

Hooded and bound I sit in my prison cell.

And I wait