My Brother Bleeds...

The nothingness inside

Holds true for most of us

At times it may

Strike a chord or even two

Instilling passion and despise

Some may even gladly offer

Whatever’s in their coffers

As we continue to speak our hearts

Standing up to protest

Shouting slogans designed to awaken

The souls of those still at rest

The calls to unite in His name

But to what extent can we claim

That we’ve aided our brothers

Oh Palestine,

To what extent can we claim

That we’ve aided those who bled

A teary eye serves as to naught

Same too a helpless sigh,

For the battle that lies at hand

Is deeper than one thinks...

As his ten little fingers,

Clutch onto the bottle

Not letting go,

Till he’s had his feed

Amidst the roaring sounds

Of what may seem like thunder

Blissfully suckling

As the others continue fighting

The same ten little fingers

Provide hope for the mother

Who knows not of the future,

Yet unruffled toward fate

Should He decide to choose

Her son as HIS warrior

To defend HIS holy land

Fighting tyranny head on

Alas but stones at hand

This is not a call to arms

Nor a call to recruit

Just a mere reflection

Of how things are today

This is a call to those

Filled with apathy and indifference

To the plight of our brothers

Whose blood is spilled each day

To my brothers, Oh Palestine

Your blood may stain the streets

Your shouts might’ve been ignored

Inallaha Ma’ana

Have faith in Allah’s word

That those who are oppressed

Will rise among the best

Have faith, our day will come

Do not despair

Our day will come



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