Etched into the underside of my eyelids,
And the chambers of my hearts,
The scars in my mind,
Are on the palms of my hands,
Carrying memories that I cannot begin to understand,
Bringing a wind from unfamiliar lands.
Will you listen to my cries?
Having known the eyes that they left,
Will you ease the solitude?
Knowing the heart that has wept,
Will you carry my story across desert plains?
Knowing the depths to which its teller fell,
Will you raise your hands and pray?
Knowing that I have little left to give..
I left my heart embedded in the soil,
Of lands whose cries you fail to hear,
I left my soul with their people,
Left it deep within their pain,
I carried home a heart that didn’t feel mine,
I asked it for its story, all it could do is weep,
I tried to put it to sleep, tell it not to cry,
But I couldn’t silence its tears,
Nor could I take away its pain..
But it spoke in a tongue,
So familiar to me,
A story of loss, wounds,
Heart wrenching cries,
It spoke from within me,
I felt that it was mine,
My brothers story had followed me,
It was engraved in my mind..
For I had heard his cries,
I knew the eyes from which they fell,
I had felt the solitude,
I knew the heart and the depths,
From which it wept,
I carried his story home across the desert plains,
For his story would be mine,
I would tell it in his name,
I raised my hands to pray,
That his pain would be eased,
I prayed that the coolness in his eyes,
Would be me..
Painted upon my face,
Lining the lumen of my veins,
Echoing from the chambers of my heart,
And saturated in my art,
I pray that you find hope,
That you know my hand is yours..
I feel the pain you carry too,
I know that things are hard,
But I pray that you know,
My soul may leave but my spirit won’t depart,
It will stay with you,
As yours will stay with me,
Optimism, hope and the strength to believe,
Will be carried in the winds,
In the arms of the breeze..
And with the strength of my prayers,
It will always find its way to you..
For my brother, Hamza.