Poetry: M. Jahangir Khan
All are hijacked—
and still hijacking.
Venezuela, rich with oil and promise,
caught in the shadow of distant power,
its wealth no longer its own.
Palestine—
a land of grief,
where children’s blood writes headlines
the world refuses to read.
The nations stand,
yet move like puppets—
strings pulled from afar,
voices borrowed, not their own.
Even at home,
politics is captive,
religion is chosen, not lived,
truth is buried beneath convenience.
Day and night,
the machine never sleeps.
Power flows easily
to those who trade in fear.
History remembers resistance:
Ho Chi Minh
who defied empires,
defeated colonial rule,
and united a divided land.
Yet the present remains unfinished:
Korea—still divided.
Venezuela—still pressured.
Palestine—still bleeding.
Languages survive
where politics fail:
Arabic, Persian, Bangla—
voices of memory,
echoes of identity,
unbroken, even when nations fracture.
So the question remains:
If history honors those who resisted,
why does the present reward control?
