You asked me of the best memory I have

And I thought of all impressive and interesting times I could boast of

The time I flew in a helicopter

Or the time I got the highest grade in the entire school

But the truth is

Those are cool, great or awesome memories

My best memory is not anything like that

It is of little me playing with stuffed toy animals

On a hot and humid summer day

Oblivious of the cruel world around me

Of the stress and sorrow and hatred I would one day face

It is that what I call my best memory

What I cherish and what I long for

This is it.

As the thought of eternal silence and darkness clouds my mind, my nails dig into my palms and I tightly close my eyes. The pain and sorrow spreads through my body, as though being carried by my veins. I don't want to know what will happen next. Will I survive? Will I wake up again to see the light of day?

I slowly open my eyes once more, taking in the old wooden ceiling covered in dust and cobwebs. The morning light escaping through tiny holes in the roughly covered window, only to cast shadows of the shed's items on the wall infront of me. The rope that has me tied to the garden chair, leaves marks on my bare arms.

The door to the shed suddenly opens and slams shut. I give a frightened jerk of my head, but close my eyes as the edge of the chair cuts through my skin. The dragging footsteps get closer and I feel my body sweating. With the air heavy with silence, I let out a panicked squeak.

This is it.

We were shot.

We were wounded.

We were martyred.

Yet, we remain alive.

Peaceful.

United.

Our hopes are high.

Our religion is our pride.

We will not hide.

____________

Dedicated to all those present at the 2 mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand on Friday 15, March 2019. Young or elderly, male or female, injured or killed during the terror attack and shooting.

I sit on the prayer mat after I’ve read the third of my daily prayers. The time of this prayer ends at sunset, but today I’ve finished twenty minutes earlier. I sit on my knees as the light from the window lays on my body. The golden hour. The window to my right is open, letting the breeze blow in and pushing back the curtains while doing so. My face is streaked with tears yet my cry has gone silent. I close my eyes. This is the moment I wait for each day. The moment when the air cools my figure, all worries washed off only to leave a soft glow. The moment of peace; that leaves peace.

When you feel hopeless

You must runaway to the wilderness

Where listening to the world behave

The sound of ocean waves

And rustling of leaves

Whistling of wind

Will guide you through hurricanes

This is where help is seeked

At moments like these

I find myself confused

So much time

But don't know what to do

All this time I assumed you could not be wrong. Afterall, what does someone so young and inexperienced like me know of the world and what is right and what is wrong. So I followed you. The way they all did. Only to find myself misguided and deceived. But I still believed there must be purpose to your deception. To your trickery. Of having brought me up in lies, what was I to do if not to believe them? So I assumed I was what you told me as days past by and I continued to struggle. To suffer. Much there is to say of a leader who guides his people. But not as much to describe one who misleads.

One mistake

Is all it takes

To shatter life

Creating strife

To lose hope

And no longer cope

To crush one's dreams

Only to cry streams

With trembling hands, she laid me down

The way she would even though I’d frown

As a child, I had never been excited

To go to bed when instructed

She folds the sheet over me now

Without the lullaby but with a vow

"Soon you'll see eternal peace"

She speaks as though to cease

The pain of having done wrong

To feel the pleasure that comes after waiting so long

The twilight shines on her face

All signs of my mother, vanished without a trace

As the poison floods my whole inside

For once, I wish she had not tried