The blood on your hands

Not very far from the border which was once manned by many, then my father, now my brother

Dreams were killed, bullets were sprayed, life of one was claimed by another

Little hands of a great tomorrow are no longer busy and no longer pink

They lay in coffins of wood and cotton.

 

One like the many was woken early by a mother ‘you must go to school, my dear”

“Ma, just one more wink, please can I stay back today”, said the little one and let slide one tear

No my child the sun is up, the future is yours, the canvas is white for your paint

So wake up, walk out, and embrace the world.

 

Another one asked a father, can we draw the sky and in them some birds

Yes my child, why not said he as he laid out for the little on some bread some yogurt

While the mother was laying out the clothes for the shrine we all call school

You see she is a teacher of those little souls to guide them through

 

O believer what is your belief that makes you wake up one fine day

Not to serve humanity but to slay

If you were not wronged, then how could you so many innocents to death lay?

If you were, was there no thirst to heal, to love, to live, to stay?

 

You of my belief, you so called Muslim, what is this god you pray

I don’t know because the one I do says love and prosper, give and take

You chose to be blind you chose to be a blot

You have no Allah you have no god