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.