LITTLE FACE IN THE RUBBLE (A tribute to the children of war)

By Maryam Sakeenah

 

Little face in the rubble…

If you could speak

From your midget-coffin-

If your sweet voice could carry through

Your little mouth

Cavernous and hollowed out by death,

Encrusted with old blood

Stopped in its tracks between pearly new teeth

That once shone when your face blossomed into smiles;

Or enlivened with laughter

Over some little silliness, some little surprise-

 

Those little things, before scary big things took over-

Big feuds between little people

Unable to see the faces in the rubble-

Blinded, insensate…

 

If you could speak

From beneath the settling dust of oblivion

Falling, falling quietly over hearts-

 

You’d speak of

When the sky flared up with fires-

Malevolent and blind- as they rained Death,

Leaving the trail of bloodied corpses

And shell-shocked mourners.

And often, battered little bodies-

Timorous and traumatized-

Confounded by unanswered questions.

 

You’d speak of

The desperate, endless waiting

For a healing hand-

Perhaps your mother’s keffiyeh to cling on to;

A warm breath to reassure

“It’ll be all right”…

But the breath was cold,

The hand lifeless and brittle.

 

You’d speak of

The stinging, deep pain

Of a disconsolate helplessness,

And the terrifying abyss of cruel questions

Hulking all around you,

Pressing upon your battered self,

Confounding your infantile senses.

 

You’d speak of

How Death took so long to reach

As you writhed in your own blood…

 

Yet when She reached, Her touch strangely familiar

In its maternal, Messianic embrace,

As it spread its gentle wing

Soaring above and beyond

Where pain cannot reach-

‘The Home of Peace’

That you were promised…

 

If you could speak-

Your voice would resound…

“If only my people knew…” (The Noble Quran, 36:26)

 

If you could speak-

The Verdict would ring loud-

An eternal, scathing indictment

Writ large into the very heart

Of the eternal universe…

“Yaa hasrat an al all ibaad” (Alas for mankind!) (The Noble Quran, 36:30)

 

If you could speak-

The layered silences

Over the tiny mound of earth

That shrouds you

Would be ripped through

By the still, small voice…

 

Piercing, shattering, tearing, shuddering…

To ask of us

An overwhelming question-

‘For what crime was I slain? (The Noble Quran, 81:9)