I see the tears of that boy. Much like the country he resides in, he feels broken.
Not knowing how to cope with the death of his family, he weeps enough tears to flood the entire world.
A flood that he wishes, could put out the fire that has been set to his uncle’s home.
For the past hour he has stayed hidden contemplating suicide, wondering whether or not it would make sense to stay alive.
This hell has reached it’s fifth day. No one came. Will anyone come? Allah?
He hears footsteps. His heart leaps to his throat, almost as if it wants to suffocate him. Almost as if it wants to jump out and run far away from the pain stored inside of him.
He hears a man being dragged across the ground. The man cries out, “Ya Allah”.
The boy thinks the same as his body shakes with fear.
Fear of leaving this world. Fear that he will never smile. Fear he will never be free. Fear of having to re-live the moments his father pushed his sister off the roof of their house, to save her dignity. Fear of having to re-live the moments his dad was beaten by the mobs. Fear so great his trauma runs deeper than the seas of blood on the street. Fear so intense it haunts him to the point of disbelief. Fear so frightening, he wants to end it all, but he can’t. A grievance so great, only God would understand. Ya Allah.