Lullabies in The Streets Mourn

laila_al_shoa

 

#supportgaza

They say, my lullabies impair plus than
menacing propulsion of lead sling, a lot more.
Oh my poor lullabies! Oh my dear lullabies!
Let these streets mourn your demise.

Sang you was of only the unrequited love,
glittered in this green grass tips,
spraying the revision of peace,
damped to flat by pacing boots, in brutality.

Weep you was of the naivety
in my son’s minuscule fingers forced
to hold on hardness of a grenade,
Forgetting the wimpy elation of dolls
he played on with the past moment.

Praised you was of my mother’s defiance,
bearing the hundreds of bodies,
which on each piercingly labelled
of the frith fruited in the dark redness,
long left unqualified to instigate.

The time had come, oh my lovely lullabies!
A time long awaited to deflower
the mines blossomed in these garden,
to drain the lakes smelling of blood and bones,
to stop the silence from being guillotine.

I pray the lullabies to defiant as ever more,
to echo through these streets no-ever lasting,
to raise hands in unison,
to live in our veins for hope bestowed.

And at this time,
Burying my friends, my mother,
My youth, my humanity,
I hope my lullabies trembles more
louder than gunshots and blasts.
I hope my lullabies are stronger.

 

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The Fallen

angel_statue_painting_by_ismaellourenco-d30eodm

 

We had a yesterday, me and this statue.

Stone-boned nakedness and grated eyes

of it, I bequeath now.

Lesser dawns flee reluctant before

Our eyes forgathered a glint of acquaintance.

And even lesser dusks failed to pass after

Confessed to it was of my sinned days.

We had a yesterday.

 

Remember I of its bravery, glancing unshaken

to the invincible burning skies, evermore.

More or less liable of recollecting the benevolence

It depicted, in thriving rains and scorching sun.

Disregarded was it by many,

and detested by a few more

for blenched remains of black sheath,

grotesque lone figure, eyesore to a few more.

 

Today, I look a space earlier present not,

once reckoned, a pale statue to summon.

Never far saw anyone I, whom

inferred the variance that was yesterday,

Nor a single soul apart me and stray crows,

empathized on the piece, today wasted.

 

Now, I pose the space,

con the dawns and desks.

I see a fallen, and remembers

a martyr of past, and confides in the

space that once was it.

 

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