Ignorant Child

Note: The child, who lost her mother on the battlefield and was born, was able to write today as a result of many days of struggle with nostalgia in the mind of a girl who did not know her father. There is little imagination; But, her bruises still make me cry. Prepare your mind before reading as a child living on a battlefield. 
Dear mother,

I stand on the shore like penance.
I'm going to dissolve the salt in an attempt to hold the air.The desire to catch fish and play.Fireflies also learned violence;
Even raindrops are bullets.
Silence binds tombs to the smile on my lips;
Interlocking iconic flowers depict tragedies like Da Vinci.

I begged for breast milk for the first time when ants bit my stomach.
If you had strayed into the nearby jungle
I would have sent soldiers and found you.
But, you went to that 'northern fire'.
There, the soldiers are just monsters; Monsters are masters.
I do not have wings like the birds that cross the continent.
Even on a festive day the color of the puttada is not known.
There a rose garden subtly makes crosses.

I play the flute like dumb.
Cloud pigeons carrying the wind inside.
Poets call hairs rivers; Please forgive me.
The ‘hanging rope’ is the suicidal hair I commit all the time.The days are withering like flowers;
Grows like trees for years.
The upper two circles of the heart grow like a crutch.
Blood stains on the clothes covering the thighs.
Butcher shop dyes are donated to me every month.There are tears even when the doors of the eyelids are closed.

Even the handkerchiefs clap their hands in tears.
I have become accustomed to washing away pleasures with misery, like the shadow of a poor house toy that makes a lame foot horse.
There is no one to talk to out of my mind; As a refugee I get locks on my lips.
I cut my nails and mortgage and grow peacock feathers in the palms;I ask for funds to build an ‘ashram’ in the night sky for widowed stars.
Someone called me an 'angel' that day;
Today I agree, it’s ‘pain’.
I write petitions for the Lord; Cancer - mites live inside envelopes.
Adult bamboo air restores umbilical cord;
The devious and cruel way I treat them would probably upset her a little.

You ignorant child


Fliss's picture
Dear Mohamed, this is a very moving piece from you, filled with hardships alongside some arresting imagery. I like 'Even raindrops are bullets' particularly, for the insight it provides into the child's psyche. And the 'hanging rope' is memorable too. Best of wishes for this week's contest, from Fliss :-)

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MyNAh_27's picture
Dear Poet, I’m overwhelmed by the depth of intense feeling in this your latest entry. It’s quite the piece. Magnificent in fact. Best of luck M

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