We met by the blue river.
I had problems and you had problems.
We bonded over that.
I could see that you were just as broken as I was.
And I was okay with that.

You were running from monsters,
And I was running from monsters.
You had demons and I had demons.

Do you think you have room for one more lost soul?
They say silence is the most powerful scream,
And it was pretty obvious that we were both screaming
In a place no one could hear us.

We weren't okay but we smiled anyways.
We realized it was better that way.
Because we realized we didn't want anyone to suffer
The way we did.

to my darling who feels she's not:
our separation is mere illusion.
truly, your pain strikes me as i write this;
your sensations of abandonment,
and the decisiveness they have caused,
bleed from my skin into the fibers of my clothes.
i am no longer clean.
i do not feel pure.

to my severed arm and shortened tendons:
destruction is merely another side of life.
out of disappearance comes all things-
without space, there would be nothing to contain us,
nothing to allow and enfold our beings' spirits,
and they would sputter and cease like my love's flame.
i am no longer yours.
i do not feel full.

to the farthest star that my eyes can see:
your light reaches me- i glimpse you!
in the perceived emptiness between us
there is no distance to be found;
around us exists the infinite potential for
further connection and deeper growth in closeness.
i am no longer alone.
i do not feel sorrow.

The smallest coffins are the heaviest!
The smallest coffins are the heaviest!
No one wears stained clothes
No person likes stained walls
We make sure that they are cleaned
We make sure it is all stainless

But on a colourless Tuesday
Terrorists spilled red all over a school
They ransacked the classrooms
They set a teacher on fire

They shot aimlessly at tiny hearts and hands
They murdered their future
They banged bullets through budding brains
And all that was left were stains.

Terrorists stained crisply ironed uniforms
They spilled blood in corridors once filled with colourful paintings
They blemished the thoughts of little souls
They damaged the hearts of parents young and old.

Terrorists persist in staining their hands
They exult in staining their nation
They stain the meaning of Islam
They stain the words of Allah in the holy Quran

The redness of young blood will haunt them
These red pigments will soak them into hell
These blotches won’t be disregarded
These stains will sustain till eternity!

-Zainab Attari