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Collateral Damage
Can you even imagine your beautiful baby
Swept away from you in a world gone crazy?
Lying cradled in your arms, wounded and dying
You ~trying to be strong~ but inconsolably crying
Their tiny perfect body now destroyed and shattered
An arm and a leg blown off ~ bits and pieces scattered
You ~trying to hold the gaping holes to stop the bleeding
Knowing without a doubt your child has no hope for healing
Your repetitive words are stumbling spilling out of your mouth
I love you’s and it's okay, don't cries tripping over them selves
As you cup the bloody stub left at your baby’s splintered shoulder
Gone ~ the arm he hugged you with ~ you feel him growing colder
As you despondently stare into his shocked, miniature angel eyes
And you struggle within your soul ~ not wanting to let him die
While wretchedly begging in your mind to take him quickly
So he no longer has to experience this revolting, sickly
Feeling of torturous agony, while conscious of death
In shock ~ you rock him as he takes his last breath
Blood continues to pool all around as you scream
No! Not my baby! Oh please let this be a dream
His lifeless, ravaged body, his eyes staring at you
Pain and fear in his face seems to be frozen there too
His tiny lips turned icy and purplish blue under the red
You weep hysterically and cry why wasn't it you instead
Anger kicks in with the grief as inside your heart turns cold
Trying to fight as your sons limp body from your arms is pulled
People in shock mill around, some help you off the war torn street
This loss has made your body ill and too weak to move your feet
Taken to a makeshift hospital then laid down next to the dead
Only thoughts of your beloved baby replaying in your head
Destruction surrounding you ~ they carry in your cousins
One dead one maimed who's to blame is it the Russians
Could it be this horrifying scene described is not fake
It happened when bombs were dropped by mistake
Wrath rained down on the heads of the innocents
Women, children, the elderly, it makes no sense
Killing in search of Bin Laden's terrorist cell
So have we become the terrorists as well?
Hi Samir your voice, my voice, his/her voice, their voice_not enough to enter thru the clogged eardrums and the extensions of mistakes gets further extended...I simply hate bomblasts!
Wow! I'm dumbfounded at the pain expressed in this poem. Very well written and intense is an under statement. Keep on writing, and I want to say I'm very sorry if this was an experience you had to go through.
As salaamu alaykum,
I love your poem. Yes, it is quite intence.
I fell into a mode of understanding..... I lost a child and know what this person is feeling. Inshaa allah, we as people will learn to understand each other.
Please feel free to visit my site and read my poem in the folder (death) about my son.
salaams
Quite an intense poem. I admire your writing style. The beauty of poetry is that everything is not ideal; there is war and evil in this world; using our words as a sword, perhaps one day it will change.Inshallah.