[KHAN SHEIKHOUN, SYRIA, April 4 2017]
Spring in the air
Olive and cherry trees
Crisp and invigorating breeze
Of orange, yellow, purple
Juxtaposed with colours vile.
And then, hate simmers
The world shimmers
Smoke turns the sky dark and lacerated.
Corpulent gray clouds loiter,
Their underbellies outlined in flaming, reddish pink.
Blood –curdling screams as hearts begin to sink.
Tear –streaked faces, broken crayons
Scarred earth, hunk of metal
Twisted like humanity.
How does one mourn a loss so great?
A loss perpetrated by corrosive hate?
A devastated father refuses to part with his twins
Nine month old.
Lingering near the cemetery, lost in thought
Another kid, [who has perhaps just learnt to count?]
On his tiny fingers
Ticks off the number of pals he has lost in this attack.
A dog frantically tries to lick his master back to life
As a dazed man hunts for his missing wife.
Eyes wild, another cannot stop kissing his
How does one lament humanity’s fall
Perhaps, bless the stars for mercies small?
Be happy that two tiny tots were lucky enough
To be buried next to their mother?
Or smother one’s moans
Into a silence