Dark Day
A poem by Sitara
She stood opposite her muddy cottage
Torn walls, gaping holes, like unfulfilled desires
Her cottage was old, but heaven to her
Her small eyes surrounded with wrinkles
Stared at her broken children, poverty on their faces
They worked in the streets
Their smoky hands, bushy hair and drab clothes
Stabbed their mother’s heart
They were working too hard
One a huckster, the other washing cars
The sunlight burns them until they are blushed
Their faces sweat like they are standing under rain
She feels their tongues stick in their mouths
No shelter, no food, no toy for playing
No book, no pen, no prospect for the future
One customer says thanks, and gives them money
The other mistreats them, complains of their work,
Throws their money on the ground
The boys smile and take their meager wages
Shown her bitter life story
She murmurs slowly to herself
My kids endure all difficulties to find a loaf of bread
If I had known, I would never have given birth
Their torn clothes and bare feet
Bring tears to the mother’s eyes
She looks to the sky
Her dry throat locking her lips
She kneels on the ground,
Turns her face and sees another child
Well-dressed in an expensive car
It drives fast, splatters mud on an old woman’s face
She rubs off the dirt
Wonders when her misery will end
Suddenly, a horrible sound tears her thoughts
She turns her face
Sees her child’s tiny body pooled in blood
The suicide demon exploding his life
Like others before, bomb strapped
To body like a baby to its mother
Inanimate statues now stuck to the wall
The mother is still as a breathless body,
Perhaps her spirit has fled
