PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I remember it like it was yesterday. His yellow hair, made of dust gathered from the halos of God’s Angels, blinds my eyes. The sweet smell of baby powder and fresh linen that marked where his presence had been lingers in my nose. And his ocean blue eyes fill the vastness in my heart. I can still feel how smooth his skin was. How it was clammy from the summer heat. I can hear his little lips as they vibrate against themselves, humming like the engine of a motor bike on the freeway. I can still hear the echoes of his innocent laughter. I remember it clear as day; I turned my head for a second, no more, no less. But he was quicker than the flash on speed and when I turned my gaze he was gone. I dropped the laundry I had been folding and ran into the hall way. I felt powerless as I saw him begin to roll down the stairs; his chubby little legs tumbling over his perfectly symmetrical face. I wanted to protect him but I was too late; I reached the top of the stairs just as he reached the bottom. I remember the expression of his face; wide eyed, stunned and unsure what to think of the events that had just unfolded. He gazed at me blinking as if to say “why so sad mama?” or “how did you get all the way up there?” then he carried on his way crawling back up the stairs like it was an adventure. He didn’t cry, he didn’t feel hurt or scared or nervous. Before he knew what had happened the moment had passed and all that existed to him was the joy of climbing the stairs. I imagined it was just like that. That the same feeling of peace and ignorance over took him; that it was over before he knew what it was; when he heard the cracking of fireworks through the Arabian air; when his bullet pierced his heart.