Her name was Razan Ashraf Abdul Qadir al-Najjar,
From 7am till 8pm she helped the injured,
Tending to them on the fields of freedom.
This was her weapon,
Her white medical coat,
Now stained with her life’s blood.
“Her only weapon was her medical vest,”
Her Mother’s voice drowns in pain,
“She may have been small, but she was strong.”
The last time she saw her daughter,
“She stood up and smiled at me,
She flew like a bird in front of me.”
The angel of mercy,
Her goal was to save lives,
And offer relief to the wounded.
Her arms raised high to show she was unarmed,
She approached a victim lying upon the ground,
But the ******’s trigger only knew the language of hatred.
And a bullet blinked hard and fast,
The wrath of the single butterfly bullet was so brutal
It ruptured into three other medics.
A bullet designed to explode upon impact,
It lacerates and pulverises bone and tissue,
The Devil’s Banned Bullet.
It was a Friday,
In the month of Ramadan,
When the desert sand drank her blood.
A weeping Mother kisses a jacket
Stained with her daughter’s blood,
“I wish I could have seen her in her white wedding dress.”
Only the songs of lamentations now,
Grief shrieks through the streets without water,
And the world watches in censored silence.
