We never found your body, three weeks, of confusion and dust, no one seemed to know or care, numb in their private tragedies, and wary, still some soldiers leaving the city. So I told Harun you’d gone to Jannah, Insh’Allah, to wait for him. He says surely you must be bored, no sick to heal. We found a woman, a mother, searching through rubble, said you saved her son, her last, the day before they came, took you away. She showed me her picture of you, with a boy, same age as Harun, smiling, with his one leg. And we smiled too, as wiped softly, each other’s tears, and then, gave thanks to Allah.
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