Lamentation of an Orphaned Palestinian Child
By Tom Somah - The Sherbro Islander
I breathe today,
but life has gone from me.
Tomorrow,
who will smooth the worry
from my forehead
before sleep takes me?
Who will keep watch
when the night grows afraid?
Who will rock me gently
when the dark begins to shake?
Mother,
the war came with fire in its mouth.
It came with missiles, smoke and thunder,
and swept you from my arms.
I am tired of crying.
My heart has no more room
for pain,
yet still it aches for you.
Will I ever hear your lullaby again,
the song that followed me
through every season?
You are gone,
but your memory holds my heart
like a hand that will not open.
They took you,
and my dream ended
where your body fell.
Around me,
broken walls lean over broken bones.
Bricks lie scattered like teeth.
In the dark,
I search among the dead
for something of you.
In the morning,
the sun rises without mercy.
It shows the world
what the night has done:
the torn beds,
the emptied rooms,
the streets that no longer know
the footsteps of children.
Only whispers remain here,
thin and frightened,
moving through the dust.
Ugly memories wander
through my mind
and refuse to leave.
I look for life,
but little of it is left.
Who will comfort me?
Who will hold me now?
Desolation sits beside me.
I walk alone,
and all I hear
is the falling of bombs,
heavy with phosphorus,
heavy with death.
Death,
do not come too quickly.
I am not asking to live,
but give me time
to say what happened.
Only days ago,
I knew the warmth of evening.
I was loved.
I loved.
I belonged to someone.
Not now.
Come then, Death,
but wait
until I have written my mother’s name
where the world cannot erase it.
Let history know
that I was here,
that she was here,
that we were not numbers
beneath the rubble,
but breath, bread, lullaby,
and love..