When the proportions are amputated on the side of the war … ✍️ Awad Allah Nawi
In a neglected corner of the ruins of the ruin, the girl stood as if she was the last survivor of a story that was told with her mother’s voice … before the sound is silent forever.
Near her, her little brother looks on the ground, no crying, no cries, no questions. As if tears are dried up, as if mourning paralyzed the language of the call. Only the pale faces, the eyes carry everything that the mouth cannot say.
* A child and a child … No one left him. *
The whole family – as they are told by taking the image – was lost right away. The father was killed and the mother was absent under the rubble, and the grandfather disappeared in a scene that has no witnesses except dust … and they remained – as a witness open to life!
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What can you say to a child who has not yet understood the meaning of “death”, but he has done the meaning of “brutality”?
How do you explain to him that no one will come to take it after today? No, “a mother” said to him, “I was washing you? I wore you?
It is war … not only are the bodies killed, but the roots of the line are killed, but the story is uprooted from the children’s mouth before they are linked, and the young people are left in the flame of nothingness, without caring palm, no line and no safety miche.
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There was no silence in the place … a heavy silence that does not look like the immobility of the night, but the immobility of the tombs.
Everything indicates that time has stopped. There is no smell of food, no voice or the mother, no noise of brothers, no father’s shadow inspects the doors before bed.
The house that had become a void. And the laughter that was, has become a memory stuck in the corners of the head … The heart suffocates whenever he tries to believe that what happened is true, not a nightmare.
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In an instant … all the laws of the world have changed for them.
The “house” no longer means the walls, but its absence.
The word “people” is no longer called, but rather the remains of a voice in memory did not know if it was a real or ancient dream.
The child who was known to the world, with the exception of a wooden doll, experienced the names of weapons, is afraid of the roar of planes and trembled if he heard a closed door strongly.
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How does a child cry without or does it include it?
How does someone who finds in their breast only the breast of his little sister, who barely understands that fear is not a destiny but a curse?
What milk is reassuring the hunger that does not live in the abdomen, but in the chest?
Hunger for tenderness … in the sense … to those who simply say to them: “I’m here, don’t be afraid.”
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In a natural world, this child would be held on the tips of his fingers to paint a heart with colors of wax on the wall.
In this inverted world … She was standing at the end of her pain, looking for an image of her mother in the ashes of the house.
In a natural world, this child would have kept the multiplication table and made a mistake by pronouncing “three in five”.
As for here … The dates of death, the names of the burned villages and the characteristics of the soldiers who killed his voice were preserved.
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She looked at him as if she asked:
“Can my voice arrive without a translator?”
She said nothing, but her silence was like an open cry that came out of the throat from all over the country.
She did not ask for shelter, but required meaning.
She asks: “Why do my stories write with pens that don’t look like me, and my tragedy is told about platforms that you don’t see me?”
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* Is this country or a cemetery? *
Is it life or a court of waiting for death?
What is the advantage of the world card if it does not contain “security” for these two children?
What is the meaning of humanity if it is only translated when ten thousand are killed? As for the two … nobody sees them!
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* 📩 The child’s voice … *
He said calmly with certainty:
I didn’t want much need … but it was possible to die with you instead of abandoning us alone!
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* O World Masters … *
Do not write to peace as long as you do not know the faces of these young people.
And do not leave mercy, as long as a child sleeps this evening without name … without breast … and without tomorrow.
