Broken Legs

it's Ramadan,
& we would wear the lips
of a night,
& speak of the dark memories
standing on
the borders of our country.

we would watch the back
of our hands,
to see the pictures
of schoolgirls, whose mothers
are through waiting
for them to come home.

we would try
to echo the screams
of people,
who lost their hopes
inside a moving train.


we would remember
the burning bodies of women,
& children whose ashes
now paint our sky grey.

& we wouldn't
want to taste the blood,
that quench the thirst of hungry zombies
walking through
the borders of our country.

our legs are broken,
we don't have the strength
to stand and fight again.

we are left with only our hands,
& we would raise them
tonight.

& ask our lord
for a piece of cloth,
that would wipe our tears.