Alaa Salah: Woman in white
The grass stands tall, together.
Each strand strong, unwavering in the winds.
Unmoved by the rays from the sky.
Untouched by the hands of the people.
Moving as one.
Sure of its purpose.
Only when the droplets begin their descent, it changes.
They fall.
One by one.
They will keep falling.
In the quiet of the world and away from the onlookers.
How can the grass stand tall when the drops reach their target.
How can the strands remain untouched if the shots make their mark.
They will keep falling.
Until a body reaches out.
Until a body chooses to protect the green expanse.
Until the bodies join together.
When the bodies shield the grass from the arrows in the sky,
Then, the grass will stand again.
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