As I open my eyes
to the world,
I see them carrying stones
just stones
in their prayer rugs
inside the Qibla-e-Awwal.
In the meantime,
a boy in the lanes
of Batmaloo makes
a farewell call home,
and tells his family
what paradise smells like.
These handsome men
and brave women
smile through
their handcuffed hands
and look the devil
in the eye.
Back home in Kanikadal,
the boys make sounds
through their targets
aimed at the Ruckshaks
telling them that we’re
very much alive.
They fight in blood
but don’t lose an inch
of al-Aqsa to the bastards.
I pray we shield Jamia Masjid
and break its shackles
and become one
—in courage with the Palestinians.
