Mute

awaken by a mother’s cry and a father’s prayer,

hushed whispers to their broken seed to be a strong weed.

rise when trampled, smash when kicked.

God did not allow you to speak, but you still have a voice,

hands, feet, eyes - ink, stone, pen, paper - so rejoice!

seizing a crumpled chalk, I wrote: God has sealed me, I will follow His Will.

they refuted, God has not sealed you, perfection is the fruit of will.

brightest star glows silent

bold flame crackles

brilliant flower blooms.

then I saw her, tiny, steely fists pummeling the screen, a little Khawla,

thin lips scolding the tyrannical invaders and their traitorous tail,

what was her name?

sleazy soldiers pinched her neck, swinging their reticent guns,

throbbing pain, switch off the phone, quietly mourn and forget.

Mr. Sun grinned, Ms. Moon slept, Mr. Sea glittered and Ms. Forest reigned,

monsoon seasons lavished the land once and again.

then I saw her, still small, a young sprout, chanting to escape the siege, the exile, their plight,

waving a proud flag in defence of her homeland- red, green, black, white,

her mouth was moving, I could see it!

donate, very well, wait for me-

money was burned on the way.

forward the messages-

sorry, account blocked.

boycott the enemies’ treasury-

conflict resolved they say? the bombings stopped?

was she heard?

then I saw her, still small, a fierce seedling now, her will crucified,

by the clean hands of torturers behind masks of victims,

another flag imprisoned her-

but the colours were wrong.

that’s her uncle?

where was her father?

poisoned land, its nurturers dying, purifying it with blood.

fertile land, turned foul by the policies of settlers, gentle thieves, and crooked politicians.

I saw her, small, bright, and petite

a picture, two dates, and an age

a name in a list

and I ponder whether

her voice is just as sweet.