your own demons
give you strength
when there’s no one
to hold onto
that’s why they’re
so hard to let go.
your demons reek fire,
and your energy flares to life,
angry hatred is stronger than ever.

I see some kids heading home from school,
bent over from the weight on their backpack.
In Palestine, children bear the politician’s schemes on their backs.
And bend further down,
grieving their parents’ lifeless forms.
Children, who used to be whole,
have their limbs torn off,
skin hanging from their faces and hands.

On my visit to the shop,
I see a kid throwing a tantrum over not getting sweets.
In Palestine, children hear cries of the wounded,
screaming for help.
While the world stands silent, aid delayed.
Red capes, a stone in their hands and a imaginary knife in their
teeth, they die as martyrs.

Politicians, no way you’d wield ruthless might,
If they were white children in your sight.

The walls of stone staggered,
as those innocent looking eyes
sought an entry
into my inner world.
If a brick was dislodged,
the whole fence fell.
If a spring flower blossomed
out of an icy condition.
“Pluck it out, stomp on it.”
The manner in which he spoke,
its softness, its kindness a ruse.
Walls of stone crumbled.
Ice dissipated into mist.

Closed my eyes, my ears,
and shut out all my senses.
He reached out,
brought me a bouquet of spring flowers,
and a rhythm of the seasons.
A man like that was worth a chance.

Our of nowhere, invisible hands grab me.
Fingers sharpened to tiny needles stabbing me all over.
Internal bleeding I beg could finish me off.
My lungs burn for life,
but I burn for limited air supply.
My legs itch to run,
but I know better than to try again.
****** footsteps leave traces
for the invisible hands to find me again.

The heat of the sun shining upon my face,
a reminder of my unattainable longing
for your warmth, and shining aura of life,
that let even the the brightest sun
look pale in comparison.
I fight the urge to cower in dark corners alone,
and let the tears stream down my cheeks.
I did not deserve hiding,
ridding the body of distress chemicals.
While regret chokes me,
forever trapped by my own hand,
I stare directly into the sun until
my eyes start to burn and cloud over.
What a waste of time not loving you.