Darfur

I heard they took the baby
Snatched him sleeping in your arms
The one with his mother’s eyes
The one with his mother’s quiet voice
He didn’t cry when he was born
A quiet cough and his gentle smile
He looked into your eyes
That where his eyes
As if to say, “I’m here now, rest”
He slept, smiling through the night
Didn’t notice the chaos around him
Basim…
You wished him happiness
You had never known
Prayed he’d only know joy, and smiling and peace
You had never known
Hid each of your hopes and dreams
In every soft fold of baby skin
You wanted to save his little baby things
Keep the soft of his cheeks
Hands
Too small to carry guns
Heart
Too pure to murder
I know you did all you could
Offered the grains you had to last the week
Begged them to take you as you were
Run you ragged into the ground
If you could only keep the soft of his cheeks
Keep those hands too small to carry guns
They took all you had to offer them
Left you tattered and ashamed
Then turned around,
Carrying 8 years worth of hoping and praying
Kicking and screaming in their arms…

Your father called you his beloved
Habiba…
He prayed his love would keep you safe
Sooth your fierce temper
Quite your defiant tongue
Wanted to explain
The sudden burst of woman
Teach you to protect and hide
The too wide hips your mother gave you
The things that made you prey
All he left you was his courage
Hoped you would use it when the time came
Use it when they came
For the smoothness of your hands
To sooth their anger
They wanted to see again those eyes
So much like their mothers
They lost the hopes and dreams
Tucked away in baby soft skin
Knew nothing of joy and smiling and peace
Forgotten the old softness of cheeks
The hands
Too small to carry guns
The heart
Too pure to murder
Your father knew that you would fight
Wanted to protect you
Show you stillness and quiet
You would not let them take
The softness your mother left you
Steal the light she gave you
12 years worth of hopes and dreams
Dripping down your legs
Spilling out your eyes
Wanted to save your little baby things
The softness of cheeks
Hands
Too small to hold guns
Heart
Too pure to murder…