There is a black hole
where the last memory of a lover resides,
you call, unaware, that they’ve died 40 days back,
The speakers ring with subtle hope, inna ma al usri yusra*,
the evening prayer fades into torture cries
ringing from the same speakers.
There is a gaping hole
where images of twisted young bodies
are yellow under incandescent bulbs,
where blood trickles
from perforated backs and unseeing eyes.
On the day Shahid left us to embellish this massacre with our words
*Arabic: Verily with pain comes ease.