Lie on the ground,
As a body filled with love and peace,
Lie on the back as the stars move
Up and around your head,
With bombs, though.
Think, of all the things you have,
And are willing to lose,
And probably lost, true.
See all the past that you have handed
On a plate of wreck and souls
To a manmade bomb or two.
Believe in the chance of having a future:
Too dim to understand or predict
But not too good to be true.
Heal the wounded breath as it takes
Every sorrow the heart felt and every ache
And listen to the slow beats racing as the stars shoot.
Shooting stars are romantic in all places but my country
Here, it is not even a star
Rather an indication of a ripped off life.
There is no way of escaping death
But that is not what we want:
To breathe, fool.
Sweet, sweet little boy;
And little girl, too, sleep as the night falls:
The morning is due. Close your ears as you
Do with the eyes; nothing for you to hear or see;
It is going to be alright.
Let your soul rest as you watch the sparkles of
Your mother’s eyes. And wipe the tears off your cheek like
An obedient child. And hold your mother’s hand
As she weeps inside. Whisper with your eyes to hers
That it’s going to be alright. “Mother, it is going to be fine.”