Blue Dot

It's nothing but a small blue dot
When seen from outer space,
This water world with all it's sins
Is such a tiny place.

There's fratricide, and genocide,
And ecocide as well,
Disease and war and famine and
The sorrow they entail.

And all confined to that blue dot,
Which brooks us no reprieve,
No opportunity for peace,
Nor way that we can leave.

Yet looking down on that blue dot,
Intelligence so deep,
We look like naught but insects and
Our planet ripe to reap.

It doesn't mean a thing to them
If we are live or dead,
Or if we wear a baseball cap 
Or turban on our head.

Or black or white or shades of brown,
Or bathed in wealth and fame,
Or Muslim, Christian, Sikh or Jew,
We surely taste the same!

If they don't give a damn about 
Our nationality,
Then why in all blue blazes should
It count to you or me?