An Open Letter From a Dead Child To His Mother On His Death Anniversary

A mother crying on the death of her child- Peshawar School Attack 16 December 2014, Pakistan.

Ma!

It’s 16 December. The day you saw my blood stained dead body. The day you died along with me. It’s our first death anniversary Ma.

I can see your red swollen eyes today, you didn’t sleep Ma, I know it. I can see your hands tremble while you make tea for Baba. I can hear that painful unspoken conversation between you and Baba. When you look at each other and say nothing, your silence tells me all. The wails of your heart and the cries of Baba’s eyes, they pierce my heart. It’s been a whole year since that happened, but you still live in the moment I died. The days after that, they didn’t pass for you.

I know you can see the wound of bullet on my head bleeding again today. The very place where you used to kiss me before sending me off to school. My white shirt which you used to wash with such pure love, It’s blood stained forever in your heart. You clean my books, my toys, my chair where I’d sit to eat and my plate everyday, with your scarf. Today when you clean, I know you can hear these weep with you.

Remember Ma, the day when they entered our school with big guns and started shooting at the children. There were cries everywhere. I was scared. I called your name. You were not there. You were running in the street towards my school without shoes.

My friends with whom I’d play everyday, they were crying and falling down while bullets hit them. I saw a pile of small bodies on the ground beside me Ma. I was standing in a pool of blood when a bullet hit my arm Ma, It was so painful. I fell on the ground. Your little kid Ma, your baby. I remember how you wept when I once had my arm broken while playing. I had a bullet in it now, I knew you’d come to save me.

They fired up my teacher who tried to save us, she burned to death alive and we saw it. It was all so scary. I wanted to hug you and hide in your shawl. I called you Ma. I tried getting up and run to you but I couldn’t. One of them saw me. He came towards me and put his gun on my forehead. It hurt so much Ma, so much. I looked him in the eyes. I wasn’t afraid of him, he was a coward. I did called you and baba for the last time before he fired the bullet.

I saw you from up there, when between blood stained books and misplaced shoes you searched for me. When in the hospital Baba showed you my little cold body. When you touched my face, brushed my hair and fell down. Hysterical, crying, unconscious. The eyes that you saw shining in the morning, they were dark. The tongue you heard speaking, singing poems while having breakfast, it was silent forever. I felt your pain Ma. I felt the pain of 132 Mothers that day.

Please don’t cry Ma. Do you know, with every tear that sheds from your eyes, a beautiful flower blossoms here in our garden. Oh did I forget to tell you? We are here Ma in this magical garden with green grass and so many beautiful flowers. They smell of you Ma. We play here and laugh. We have Allah here with us, who love us like you do. He takes care of us and He tells us that you and Baba will be here one day and then we’ll live together in peace. No bad people can enter here with their guns.

I want you to be strong Ma. We’ll meet one day. You can kiss me on the forehead then and wrap me up inside you.

Till then, With Love.

Your Brave Son.

 

From this….

To this…

 

 

 

 

I Find Myself Scattered…

I find myself scattered amid times age-old

In myths beyond expression, In tales untold

In sinful thought of a saint with heart unsure

In glare of kindness that emits from a whore

In pure love between a couple,weirdest of all

Man as tiny as a dwarf, Girl so fat and tall

In the winds that blow away veil of a wise girl

With face painfully ugly, eyes green like pearl

I find myself scattered amid times age-old

In myths beyond expression, In tales untold

In wildest fears of Syrian Refugees in a boat

In eyes of Peshawar child, knife at his throat

In the fire that burn Gaza’s screaming new-born

In bullets fired at her mother with ripped womb

In hopeful eyes of tiny girl fighting with Cancer

In ungratefulness of healthy finding no answer

I find myself scattered amid times age-old

In myths beyond expression, In tales untold

In the Kaaba of my soul, In Prayers unheard

In pleasant sounding sad chirps of a caged bird

In emptiness of Namaz, In pleasures of Love

In finding Him in heart, not in the sky above

I find myself scattered everywhere but in me

Help me gather up myself, Please let me BE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Other Side To The Story !

Once upon a time there was a man who lived happily with his family, a wife and a son. One day his son went to school and never came back……….

Oh no you are guessing it wrong. Lets read the story once again.

Once upon a time there was a man who lived happily with his family, a wife and a son. One day his son went to school and never came back BECAUSE some soldiers were searching for a terrorist and during this search operation, many children were killed that day.

The same day while that man was carrying dead body of his son in his arms, a drone attacked his home and killed his mourning wife.

On 16th December, that man along with his friends invaded a school full of students. They killed hundreds of them. Put bullets in the shining eyes of children until all the dreams of a shining future came out in the form of boiling blood. Grabbed two children and cut their necks with sharp knives until their innocent souls left their body and they turned cold. Made bullet holes in heads, chests and backs of children crying with fear, delicate children who were used to cry with pain on minute injuries. Burnt a teacher alive in front of her students.

And while doing that, their hands didn’t shiver but their faces turned black and cold after they were killed.

All that was left in the school that day, were books drenched in blood and floors piled up with dead bodies….. Sky never fell down and earth never cracked open.

They witnessed. They cried. Everyone cried that day.

Because everyone knew what happened. Sometimes, similar things happen in other parts of our country and no one cries. Because no one knows what happens there.

Except the sky and the earth….. And Mothers who are left to mourn their children forever.

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Everyone knew the story. I just explained the other side as well. I had always think, what thing urges these terrorists to do such things like to attempt suicide attacks. After all, they are plain humans like us. The same emotions, the same heart and same bodies. No wings or extra ears. Then what happens in their life that they kill themselves and kill many others along with them. May be they suffer with the worst kind of mind disease that is born with the death of their whole family. Revenge mixed up with this sickness can do devastating things like ‘Peshawar incident‘ and the famous ‘9/11‘ !!

May be, the simplest way to eradicate all this nonsense is not through the “revenge taking cycle“. May be the way is to change the whole system of “War against terror” started by America. No one is stupid enough to notice that this system is producing more and more terrorists instead of eradicating them. Killing the innocent along with the guilty, Oh no this isn’t the way !

Stop lighting up candles and pray for the martyrs, for our nation, for our country.

War, terror, fighting, killing…… No good can come out of all this. War is never the solution.

Peace, Patience and hope…. That’s the real solution.