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Writer's pictureshsimages

ode to the children of genocide | Meena Puram (11)

​​who must now pray with open eyes // who’ve forgotten who they were before the war grabbed them by their happiness sparks in their eyes wishful daydreams // & dropped them into land unknown (but safe) until safe no more // whose pain is caressed behind phone screens through trembling fingers // whose let slip their father’s last words through the cuts in their skin cracks in their fingers // whose shrieks echo into oblivion while the world watches with pursed lips dry eyes open checkbooks // who left behind nothing but grieving brothers an arm a leg an unreturned kiss & a dream not yet recovered from underneath the rubble 


who’ve once strolled past ancient olive trees // & played football on the beach while laughing through their aches that once seemed so big  // & tugged their grandfather’s beard while whispering secrets in his ear // to the children who were infinite in their sorrows & their joy alike


ode to the mothers who’ve lived to see their child’s last breath.

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