Monday, October 31, 2016

I saw a boy

I saw a boy
around nine years’ old
Run toward me, a fearful smile on his face.
            Mista, football?
He rose his hands in want.
Dirt crusted his fingers and eyes
I was wishing I had more than chocolate

Most of the guys have become jaded with the kids
With the war
With watching death spiral them
And waiting for the rattle to shake their minds.

            Insha’Allah
We are waiting for the scorpion to strike
            Hamdullah
The scorpion struck

I feel the venom before the creature comes from its hiding
I was dead before I returned home
Will I return home?
Have I already?

            Mista, mista, bomba
Imshi, Get away
I am acetate. I am the salt of the scorpion.
I bring the venom and kill slowly.

Cries for habibi scar my mind
I drink to the wails at night.

I wiped a dampened tshirt across his blood caked open eyes
            Ma’a Salama habibi


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