TO THE SOULS OF THE OPPRESSED by Samrah Sehar Refeeqi To the weeping woman sitting in solitude, in the desolate corner- suffocated by despair, A tiny corpse cradled in her arms, She strokes the dirty cheek, fingers comb through the matted hair. ‘This is the last time, child’, she whispers in her ear, ‘I will meet you in Paradise, God willing, my time is near…’ To the screaming man who sits on his knees, holding his head- rivulets of tears catching in his stubble, His wife, dying by his side, Their house, bombed and destroyed, reduced to dirt and rubble. His hand clutches hers, her head on his thighs, she struggles with her last breaths, raspy, labored sighs… To the little boy, laying in the dirt, searching-with eyes mirroring frenzy and panic, his parents martyred, his brother somewhere buried. His sister and her husband, nowhere to be found, both had been newly married… To the old, wrinkled grandparents, clutching their hearts- eyes dried of tears, words forever silenced. Both having witnessed their whole family perish, watching in horror, unending violence. To the souls of the oppressed, wherever they reside, burdened with hardship, loss, and despair, unliveable conditions they’ve been forced to abide. The rest of the world relishes peace, happiness, and ease, free from the burdens that we would fail to bear. To every helpless individual, we pray for thee, may God ease your suffering, wherever you may be. May he reunite you with loved ones, in the gardens of Paradise, bless you with insurmountable rewards, for these struggles you endure, your ceaseless sacrifice. By: Samrah Sehar Rafeeqi ©
Posted on: Mon, 22 Sep 2014 15:52:15 +0000
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