for those forgotten.

my mother named me jenna after the heavens, after the beauty that peeked through slivers of earth and hope. she named me jenna because she knew that one day i would bring light to the the forgotten souls, and the heart to our stone-cold world//

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2. prologue// i stand alone //

[ نحن نحبك جنة و العالم كذلك]

my mother whispered in my ears each night. the stars, they fell upon earth in ashes and the moon stood aside in silence as our last lights diminished. it forgot of us; it had better thing to do, brighter places to go.

my mother named me jenna after the heavens, after the beauty that peeked through slivers of earth and hope. she named me jenna because she knew that one day i would bring light to the the forgotten souls, the heart to our stone-cold world. she sang to me in her soft arabic, her words melting and her warm eyes tender with love.

my mother, she loved me with all her heart but of course, in the end, all that had ever loved me are always swept away by the current of the merciless wind. 

they say time heals our wounds. they say that after certain terrors pass, goodness surpasses we lose our grief. why are they all liars? i still sleep restless at night, the blood staining my hands and matting my waves of musty brown hair. the pinkness of my lips drained and the slashes of knives across my arms. my features, what defined me, all like fragments of glass, rigid and cold. i fear now. i fear not only for home but for my brothers and sisters suffering immensely in this war-torn country.

i hide behind these barren walls, i conceal myself in these words. my heart is entrapped in a metal cage, the cold metal bars pressing hard against it. the fire that fuels my love smolders and the wind seems to beat it down till it is nothing but crisp, burnt wood.

what war has done to me is unforgivable. how these weapon-clad men barricade through our homes, strip us of our freedom and slaughter just because we are of different religion and place. they take us from our hearths, they care only for power and for land. they torture us, our blood runs down in streams across the dry soil. pools of crimson flow down hillsides into the Euphrates; the remnants of those who tried flee.

flesh and bone, that is all we are. that is all that matters. your skin colour can be darker, or lighter, but you are still equal to the person that sits next to you. you are not superior to one of another race or religion, and you are not lower then one of different race or religion either. 

i wish everybody understood that. we'd all be happy. we'd all still have a home. we'd still have our hearts and our words. i would still have a voice, i would still have my mother. my father wouldn't have been blasted to bits and pieces by a bomb. my sister wouldn't have been beheaded in the town square.

i would still have a voice. i would be heard. my words wouldn't stick tight in my throat and my heart wouldn't carry such a heavy burden. i would still be talking. i would move my lips and sounds would escape my mouth. but no. now, all i hear when i move my lips and tongue is silence. silence and the sound of my thoughts screaming.

 

 

 

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