Tears… from paradise

Your shroud fell over many hearts,
We felt the cloth brushing soul,
Like your fingers once held, touched, brushed,
Your mothers face.
Your palm tightly clenched around her fingers
Just seconds after you were born,
Just moments after your first breath,
Your tiny fingers grasped onto her,
And she vowed she would never let you go.
Now we hold onto your fingerprints,
Conserve them like they are sacred,
Because in your mother’s eyes,
They are.
Because in your mother’s eyes,
We could not save you,
And now she wonders,
Why did she ever let you leave her arms.
When you first learnt to walk,
And climbed out from her lap, for the first time,
Why did she let you go?
In her arms you were safe.

She bore you in Paradise,
9 months,
The harshest winter must have passed,
But you were safe inside her womb.
Were you of those born in curfew?
Did her blood seep through inches of snow,
At a checkpoint where their jackboots drew a line,
That she could not cross?
On the day of your birth,
She must have known,
What it means to give birth,
In a place where paradise is a war zone,
But there no two equal sides,
And UN resolutions were desecrated in the fire,
That burnt down an entire village,
She still hears the screams of the children inside.
There are bullet holes the size of countries,
In the Human Rights Declaration,
They claimed would protect him,
She must have known.

The air is thick with memory,
Such is this grief.
And your name is on our lips.
We will it chant over and over again,
Until our tongues are as heavy as our hearts,
And they know what you died for.
And there is no tyrant,
Raising his gun to the sound of occupation,
In our home,
Where he claims to shoot into the sky,
But the bullet is lodged in your heart,
And tear gas is raining over your body,
We could not even bury you,
In peace.

She must have known,
That first time she held you to her bosom,
Paradise is no place for a child,
But your eyes lit up,
Like hope lived inside them,
And what more could we ever need?
What more could we,
Ever need.

And she narrates these stories,
Over and over again,
As her nation mourns,
Over the bullet holes,
That were child, brother, son,
Just moments ago,

But who hears,
The tears falling from Paradise?

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