Categories
poetry

Medecins Sans Frontieres

This poem is dedicated to all those who risk their lives helping others in war zones.
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.

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

By cyncoed

Old & Welsh

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