Who
sights the crescent
And
not see the bloodspots on the moon?
Where
is the joy for celebration coming from?
Whose
guts are still hungry for the delicacies?
Why
is my heart bleeding like the mother’s heart
Who
lost her son
Then
another son
Then
another son
Then
her daughters too?
Who
stays up whole night to console her?
How
many fathers have lost their appetite for life?
How
many families lost their hope?
Who
is counting the days of Ramadhan
And
not the number of dead bodies everywhere?
How
many dead bodies make up for a joyful Eid?
How
many parents lie shamelessly to their children
And
tell them it’s alright to celebrate?
Oh
God of Ramadhan!
Give
me wings right now
So
I can fly
From
Baghdad to Madina
To
count all the graves freshly watered
And
if I finish by morning Azaan
I’ll
declare Eid for myself unequivocally
Without
any shame
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