Wednesday, January 07, 2009


"I saw women and men — parents — slapping their faces in grief, screaming, some of them collapsed to the floor. They knew their children were dead,"

I ask of you:
did I not pray enough?
have I not done enough?

when printed words began calculating numbers
figures of 600 you tell me,
in 11 days you point out to me,
I could only see screams and tears of\
mothers who have lost their sons and daughters
and sons and daughters who have lost their fathers
and fathers who have lost the meaning of life
and life which perished along with memories
of how this land used to be.

I ask of you:
If Heaven is promised to those who have suffered the most,
could this possibly be hell on earth?

When those powerful ones knew not of true fear,
only theoretical ones,
are their children hiding underneath broken beds
hearts stopping at every boom, bang and crack?
are their women rocking their bodies against the cold wall
finding heat, some sense, food to feed their lot?
are their souls begging, pleading, praying
to be taken away
so they would never feel this pain ever again?
are their open hands scarred, calloused, dusked with air of regret
that the old ones have to live while their loved youngs ones are gone?
are their words bleeding, empty without rhymes,
cold and cutting, buried under the muted colours of stained bricks and stones
that are now reduced to nothing but sand and dust and black coals?
are they?

I ask of you now:
At a time when I needed you the most,
why has thou forsaken thee?