Mayhem - Death

*Picture taken from the internet: Source unknown


With dirt across their face in streaks
Grimy hands and cracked feet
Shirts strewn with blood and…

Doesn’t your heart shriek
Don’t your eyes weep
They are desperate for you and I
to do something
before all and everything
that we knew to be life
is destroyed by their
bomb and gunfire speak
Age is not even a number
as their bodies are piled high
One across another
Two on top of their mother
brother sister aunty uncle
They’re all holding hands
of aged worried grandparents
stooped, then maligned and buried
beneath a ravaged son and a father
who holds his new born bundle
blown to pieces before he could
even kiss its cheek
The unborn fetus that couldn’t
even make it into this world
before it was wrenched
into uncountable pieces of a family
drenched and buried in their own blood
Lineages wiped out before humanities eyes
Havoc is hurled about
And all its creations lie asunder

Oh Lord! Please send your Mercy?

With dirt across his face
Grimy hands, cracked feet
Tears in streaks upon streaks
Tattered clothes strewn with blood!

Asleep?

All around me rests; as it sleeps in the quite of the night, I sit outside under a very still pink sky... Everything around me underlines the silence of the night... Everything seems to be at a contrasting parallel to what I have allowed myself to be watching from the 'safety' of my home, these past couple of screaming loud relentlessly moving, yet un-moving hours... This pink night sky is as if a reflection of all the blood that is being shed in the crimes against humanity... The silence itself as if mourning all the loss... A silence before a storm from the Lord of all mankind, perhaps? The soul yearns and hopes, for His commanding stroke to manifest Itself and spread It's desperately called out for Mercy, upon all those pining with their arms outstretched to the skies, with their bodies and families, their unborn fetuses and children, forsaken in the hope of a salvation from their Maker -

Ya Lateef, Ya Hakeem, Ya Qawiyy, Ya Rahman, Ya Raheem, Ya Malik, Ya Jabbar, Ya Furqan, Al Awwal, Al Akhir, Al Qayyum, Al Qareeb...

... I wonder if my pink sky will soon join me, as my eyes cry for the people of Palestine, for the oppressed and needy everywhere... As we - all of humanity under the same sky - bleed under oppression, unhelped, unheard... To death, number after number, multiplying into a nameless heartless statistic quoted to me sometime tomorrow, when the rested have awaken from their quite sleeps...
Allahu musta'an

''Innalillahi wainnailaihi rajioon''

Grief

It’s one of those things that every human goes through in their own way; each moment - deep, surrounded by the sorrow of memories that flood you. There are those who speak their heart out, face the people concerned, and talk about it, ask about it. There are those who silently pray from afar, transfixed in the news of their loss, unable to physically do anything to help. There are those, who try facing the people, do little to help in matters on hand because someone else already seems to be handling it, and so they stay on the sidelines, struggling to find the right words, wishing not to add to the burden by asking too much and making the people repeat the stories of their pain, of how it happened, what’s happening now, etc. praying from a distance, ever ready to do anything asked if need be. But what remains a constant in each situation of people, is the pain. Whether someone was close, or family, or a friend, or an acquaintance… everyone’s pain IS pain. Perhaps the different ways of expressing it (or the lack of ability to express it at all) may not be agreed upon by everyone culturally, religiously… but the expression and reaction is ultimately for God to know… for our duas and supplications are sent out to him. Those who are able to, will get their feelings across to the families in some way shape or form… but it won’t be until many more weeks from the time of when it all happened, that they might remember and actually respond to your having been there at the time… Regardless of the myriads


Suffer in silence… withdrawn into a quiet stupor.
Suffer in silence… morbid thoughts of a moment over.
Suffer in silence… vulgar words in memory spoken.
Suffer in silence… people many yet people absent.
Suffer in silence… incensed thoughts emotions awaken.
Suffer in silence… until tomorrows glimpse of a new horizon