Wounded Breaths


Lie on the ground,

As a body filled with love and peace,

Lifeless, though.


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.”


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