Alaa, wake up my dear. Please wake up, look your mother has got milk for you.
Sitting on the ****** floor, covered in dust and tears he said “ he was my little brother”
Where is my son muhammad? Where?
“ what is his full name?”
Where are you muhammad? Muhammad?
Yes this is our son. God be willing.
The mother cried quietly and said, my Muhammad
Father said:
“Give him to me , please, illl carry him”
The mother said
“Noo, ill carry him, he is my dear son. Dnt come near to me, if you will come near, ill never forgive you
Look everyone, this is my dear muhammad, God be with you my dear child.”
And she held him in her lap, carrying him on the dusty streets, surronded by death , fear and destruction. She did not care, for her whole world she was carrying in her arms.
We will come back my Aleppo, we are leaving you with teary heart, but wait for us my beautiful Aleppo, we will come back
She stood infront of the rumbles of her beloved home and for the last time absorbed it in herself and bid a goodbye
She went to her broken home, but the plants in her backyard were still green inspite of shelling and bombs, she plucked one stem and tearfully left the last step from her home, kissing the wall and the door.
She was 9 months pregnant , the shell hit her, they did c section and took out the child. He was motionless and did not cry, they did cpr , pat his back by keeping him upside down, rubbed him hard and atlast he cried hard, and the room beemed with ALLAH O AKBAR.
A kind hearted Dr. Hamza, who revived my faith in kindness and humanity.
