The Stare of a Syrian Boy

I love you
If only my hand could stretch across nations
I would lift you up out of the hills of bodies 
Out of the land of bombs and brokenness 
For I know at least my heart does
And I would offer you a place in my chest
But instead I am here in my perfect four sided box house 
In this perfect four sided box country
Watching you touch your face with your hand, look at your hand covered in blood
And you not knowing that we saw the blood on your face before you did 
That our entire country is watching you at this moment
Watching you be so quiet that at a moment of tragedy and ache
You cannot even scream, you cannot even cry
For the bombshells have dropped all around you, spitting metal under your skin, welding you into hardness 
Or perhaps you think the camera we point at you is a gun 
And that is why you are silent, desensitized to submission
So even if you are far away little boy, I just wanted to say that I love you
And I know times are hard, and you never deserved this 
But you are seen, I see you, I see it all, and I'm here for you
Maybe not sitting beside you, but I am here 
And my darling, I will stand beside you. 

-anna sluder
Link to picture: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3748074/Haunted-stare-bloodied-boy-shames-world-innocents-suffered-civil-war-appears-no-end.html

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Like Like

"I like you" I opened the paper bag. It was still innocent, pulsing like butterfly wings incredibly alone and incredibly alive and I swept my fingertips along the greased sides gathering a bit of blood as it trembled warily I inched my hand across the table like easing poker chips forward into the colosseum of games and fears where no one comes out alive "I raise you," I whisper, tipping my closed hand ever so slightly so that I poured my blood onto the table like turning a time glass of sand. I waited. The time was caustic, like a match burning to the end. Then he nodded in admiration and we played on like children finding little things in the forest flowers and twigs and climbing and scraping our knees on trees trying to make sense of a collection of unplanned entities "I love you" I stared back down into my lap, into the bag, into the dark aorta and the valves I wrapped my fingers around it and eased it out with the timidity and doe...
Read more

Visiting Grandma

Charlie, you must know Old Grandma Vivienne is a wild old hoot, No more than that, she's a crazy old bat, No, no, no, a sadistic psychedelic maniac So as mother always says: Don't listen to what she says, don't take her candy when offered, and don't smell her flowers, She used to be an apothecary you know. Oh Lydia! I'm sure she's not so bad, just you wait I'm sure Old Grandma Vivienne is nice, No Charlie! Don't listen to what she says, don't take her candy when offered, and don't smell her flowers! She used to be a mortician you know She can't be all of those things, Lydia! But! I promise that I won't listen to what she says, I won't take her candy when offered, or smell her flowers Good Charlie, because she used to be a taxidermist you know. At early noon, Charlie trekked through weeds and fallen logs, Chanting all Lydia had told him: Don't listen to what she says, don't take her candy when offered, and don't ...
Read more

in fear of love

I want to write you letters, to buy you flowers, to run my fingers through your hair. I know nothing about love, but I know how to do if perfectly, I think I would be a really good lover, I would be good at loving you. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings from watching films and reading books. I wish we could love each other without our bodies. My body can't quite fit around this soul, it is too large in some places and too small in others. I stretch and pull like taffy but there are too many miles of skin. I wish our souls could meet without our bodies, so you wouldn't know the tragedy of analyzing my eyes, the glances, the motion of limbs or lack of it. I wish you knew the buzzing ball of light and energy that is my soul, before you knew the vessels, skin, and hair that cover it. I want to draw you over me like a blanket and whisper to the universe in the space between our souls; and write you letters, and buy you flowers, and run my fingers through your hair...
Read more