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Where Are Your Weapons?

We replied, "The only weapon present in this home is injustice."

Torture never once broke my spirit.

My power resonated through the chains.

Even as the debris hindered my movement

The first drops from the lead shower appeared in our vicinity

They washed the homes

The star and moon children drowned in its metallic essence

Scattered bones and broken tones

Blood stained hijabs

Dripped on the soil of the basket

I wondered if the fruits would grow again

Why are you on the streets?

                                                                                                                 Our home…

                                                                                                   Felt the bomb’s kiss

We sang the tune of solidarity

It resonated in every blood covered widow

And their battered younglings

Who searched for nothing but a warm meal and a pillow

To soothe their traumatized minds

It started with one…



Two hundred…

How the cursed mineral has ripped our land apart

Shredded its beloved inhabitants

Then left them scattered to the wind like roaches


Our kindness burned as we lit torches to guide the displaced

Our resilience never faltered as the embers of unblooded family still burned

Even as the militants kicked my door down



Where are your weapons?


We replied:

                                                       The only weapon present in this home is fear.

I felt the cold touch of the 9mm

Crunch against my spine

It pressed me for answers

Knowing full well I held no rebel weapon against it

Only a rebel heart bleeding for a wronged nation

My father intervened

In the hopes of saving saviors

But the cells and torture held us accountable to our prophetic behavior

For a month,

Thirst became my friend

Hunger became my best friend

Torture became my lover

We met every so often

They bruised my body

Battered my insides





We broke up

The flame of compassion lit as I returned home

And again we told the AK-47


The only weapon present in this home is injustice.


Alas, I was reunited with my three friends

And I fell in love once again

She was brutal but never once touched my spirit.

My mother ensured that death did not grace us with her presence

In two hours we fled for safety

Safety hiding behind the refugee camp fence

The sniper’s crosshair rested today

Money covered him like a blanket

Yet misery covered the scars of the homeless.


To be continued... 

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Where Are Your Weapons?
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