Remember Me; Little Angles

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
In this poem, I respond to the innocent lives wasted by merciless killers in wars. It is also a response to the old lie “Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori” (Wilfred Owen). The little angles’ souls are talking to their killers and wondering for the reasons they are killed. They feel apathy for them for not understanding the meaning of humanity.

Submitted: March 09, 2013

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Submitted: March 09, 2013

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Remember Me

Ayman Abu-Shomar

To the memory of those children killed in the 2013 Israeli war on Gaza (Palestine)

 

I wish I can re-colour their faces

I wish I can re-name them,

I wish I can re-dress their little bodies,

If this would give them more time.

 

Just for my colour, you kill me?

For my name?

Or, my dress?

I've gone, and you are still here.

I met the angels who asked me:

Is there guilt?

They know the answer.

 

But, one day,

You will also go.

 Don't you know that we will all go?

Ten, twenty, maybe fifty?

You will live after me, and retire, and grow old, and forget me

But -dear killer- you will remember.

I will ask you to remember.

My face, little age, and small hands

Will ask you to remember.

 

And ask:

You didn't allow my hands to grow,

You left my chair in the school empty,

You made me just a sad memory to my beloved,

You

Will remember.

Will you?

 

When your hands become too weak to carry a repentance Book,

Or when you become a headline in a newspaper

With black strip next to your name,

You and the world will no longer remember your triumph.

What remains - my killer- is me,

Only me.

 

Remember me, remember me.


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