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Anas

 

I run outside
my breath, a gasp.
My feet stop, in shock.

The moon is full tonight.
A breeze slides over my skin.
The tide… still crashes on the shore.

I try to breathe.
I can’t.
How has the time not stopped… tonight?

I go to the sea.
We sit.
We wonder.
We reminisce.

We wonder how many school lunches they spent
to fell… a man of his might.

The sea takes me in her arms,
whispers words of comfort
just as meaningless tonight
as they have been, for years.

He was a man I never met,
but with all the pride, and ferocity, of a sister

I call him my brother.

He was a man I mourn tonight,
as the sea’s waves lap at my feet.

Blanketed by the dark,
there is no one around.

I wish I could drown,
that the sea will swallow me whole.
I feel helpless.

The weight of the world…
is heavy tonight.

I give charity in his name.
I pray for him.
I hold him in my heart.

Every tear that falls from my eyes
carries his name, like a cherished pearl.

Morning takes me by surprise.
I wake with a start,
not knowing I had slept.

My hand finds my phone,
hoping against hope…
it has all been a nightmare.

I see his face.
At first glance, the same prayer escapes my lips,
the prayer I have made for two years,
every time I see his face,
every time I hear his voice.

I have to stop myself.
I tell myself once more 
He is no more.

This man,
who did not know I existed,
I have prayed for every day,
many times a day,
for two years.

I think of him.
I think of Anas.
I think of Hossam.
I think of Ismail —
the namesake of my son.

My heart sinks
as I sit in this weakness.
My sons…what will I tell them?

Every day, when they hear his voice,
they come running:
“What happened?”
“What is the news?”
“What happened this time?”

I do not know how to tell them.
The voice has gone silent, forever, tonight.

I think of Fadi.
I think of Mahmood.
Of those he left behind.

I think of his mother,
his wife,
his daughter.

Will we ever meet?
I pray for them.

I wonder about the caliber of a man
who has the whole world praying for him… tonight.

It was his first night in the grave.

I believe, with all my heart,
that he found his home
in an everlasting garden with no end in sight,
where blessings have no end in sight.

I go back to the sea.
She holds me once more.

I write “Free Palestine” in the sand
with every piece of my broken heart.

And as I cross the mighty Mississippi,
I wonder 
what if I had slept with the sea tonight?
Would I have heard
an echo of his voice…
if I had slept with the sea… tonight?

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