The Shooting Star

(About the plight of Uighur Muslims in China; a poem about the children of refugees)

I look at a light ray up above
trying to catch it with my scarred red hands 
But it slips through my fingers sans warmth 
Just like the people standing far away
Waiting to beat us, waiting to help us “learn”; waiting to get us all

 

My heart bleeds and my eyes rain

the sad yet well-woven tale of a hundred goodbyes; without goodbyes 

I yearn as I sleep beside two logs

Crying for the warmth of my mama’s hugs

 

I yearn for that morning sun,

But alas! It is the morning moon that shines on me

Devoid of warmth, devoid of light

Devoid of a single ray from the hundred billion I yearn for

 

Yet in the darkness there flashes a light

Bit by bit I grab it all; 

My mouth opens and my hands stretch out

As through the broken walls to the empty sky, 

I see the twinkle in my mama’s eyes (once more),

She falls down as a shooting star and makes me feel loved 

(just as I had felt in what seems like a billion years ago)

As on that faithful evening, before everything fell apart 

she was patting my head, singing “Lavender’s blue”

 

“When will I meet you, mama?” I whisper to the shooting star

As the sky above welled up with tears galore

“Wait for me my love” she whispers in silence

“Alright now tell me; how does it feel, my love, when a raindrop trickles 

down your face to say hello?”

 

And finally, my day has come, starved of love, of warmth; of everything 

I shall go but alas! Who will cry? (not even me)

As sleep kisses the tired eyes and a familiar voice sings a distant lullaby 

A black curtain starts pulling over

But I try to pull back! But slowly relax as I realise 

All but the world will be sad without me

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