Rest in peace – the voice my of god 

Rest in peace – the voice my of god

As I sat to write –
my tears fall like a bruising rain –
racing it from my grieving cheeks
in wretch, with a shattering pain,
I can hardly breathe .

So helpless to convince my bleeding heart
that I wouldn’t hear your angelic calls
of “Kaka Jan” any more –
breaking me it into thousands of devastating pieces in sore.

You were so little since I watched you growing up,
with your little angelic smiles would make feel so rich –
not giving me even a minute to feel alone
and this wretched.

I have seen you growing day by day,
from boundless cries to endless laughter,
from curling movements to glowing Missy,
and from innocent questions
to angelic reactions.

I watched you learning new things,
from the little talks to little walks,
from little reflection to slowly perfection
and from small kisses you would grace us – to warmth hugs you would give.

Your small and sweet angelic talk
was not less than the voice of god
to be spoken through you –
pleading were you to pacify my heart,
knowing my loneliness well
in this desperate state of separation
which is now
 I know to be even harder in your gone.

You were the pavilion of our love
and hope in the whole family,
as you like an angel would to bring
the boundless smiles on our faces
with your little angelic acts
in the threshold of your childhood.

As you depart,
I shall save your memories near me,
carefully wraping them in the pouch of my love, my little angel –
from the day you came to our lives
 like the crescent of the festival –
up to the moment you flied so high
into the skies from us.

Your gone has broken us into thousands
of bleeding pieces,
and me more than your own father and mother,
for i couldn’t even give you a hug
even in your gone, my beloved –
the hands that beged moments
to hold your little naive hands,
couldn’t reach you to say a goodbye.

The circumstances left me too far
and helpless that I couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss
for the last time to make sure
I had your last look with me
just for the pacification of my boundless tears and bleeding heart
that wants to fly unto you with whims. 
 
With boundless hugs
and longing kisses, 
Your uncle forever,
Abdul Samad Haidari

About samad1986

Abdul Samad Haidari is a poet, writer, teacher and a former freelance journalist, currently residing in Indonesia as a stateless refugee. He is the author of The Red Ribbon He fled his home country at the age of seven and grew up wandering in Pakistan and Iran as a child refugee, and was separated from his family for the majority of his childhood. For two years, at the age of eight and nine, he was forced into child labour in the construction industry in Iran. In contrast, Pakistan offered refugees like him the opportunity to study and work. This education and work experience culminated in Abdul teaching computer studies and English language courses at the Intel Computer Center and Pak Oxford Professionals. After the collapse of the Taliban government, Abdul returned to Afghanistan thinking that the security situation had improved, and that he could take part in the reconstruction of his war-torn country. With this in mind, Abdul served as a freelance journalist and humanitarian aid-worker in areas of the country that remained dangerous to civilians because of the influence of terrorist groups. Abdul served with the Norwegian refugee council (NRC), ActionAid Afghanistan, Daily Outlook Afghanistan group of newspapers, and The Daily Afghanistan Express. As a freelance journalist, Abdul wrote articles and editorials about on-the-ground realities, which were then circulated widely. These had a particular focus on women and children’s rights, corruption, transparency and accountability in government, warlords and terrorist groups’ actions and the systematic persecution of minority groups in both Afghanistan and Pakistan.
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