As some of you know, there was recently a shooting in Peshawar inside of a Mosque. The news is tragic, but someone recorded footage of the entire incident on their phone. It was almost impossible to watch; it’s the kind of pain that digs deep into your skin. I really wish this sort of violence would stop. It’s not fair to anyone in such a situation. My heart goes out to them.
I sit in a Mosque, my hands held high
Praying to God that I could live another night;
That I don’t become a ghost or a memory forgotten,
That five years from now my skin won’t have become rotten.
Because in such a place of peace can still be infiltrated by hate.
Ratatatatat; caught in a surreal state.
The carpets are stained, blood on the window panes;
A bullet doesn’t touch me, so how can I still feel pain?
And yet God has covered me in a blanket;
I can go home to my family, not home in a casket.
A bloody bullet falling on the ground is louder
Than bullets fired, or the screams as we cower.
Yet these screams won’t reach television screens.
I was convinced we were on the same team.
I’ll come tomorrow, and see the carpet with blood stains-
They’ll come off; but I cannot clean the blood off of this day.
How! How can a man take it upon himself to decide,
With the gun as his gavel, that the other man has reached his time.
Did he look into his soul before taking it? Or rather,
Had he dared to even think about the words of his father?
Because a shell is nothing; it’s the tortoise that is alive
Just as how the soul is the reason a man thrives.
I have heard that once you take a soul away
Yours will slowly but surely start to fade.
Bismillah Hir Rahman Ir Rahim
Alhamdu Lilahi Rabbil Alameen
I have lost my brothers, only to gain tears.
How am I to enter a Mosque with all these fears?
But I know if my eyes were to close inside of a Mosque
They will re-open in the hands of God.
I cannot find the strength to end this poem off;
How can I put a cap on all these thoughts?