When a child dies

Published: March 6, 2013
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PHOTO: REUTERS

His eyes; bright, innocent and carefree,

Guileless; so perfect in their entirety,

Smile; pure, sweet, untarnished,

certainly, it was cherished.

 

Mother, father- forever doting,

Precious like a diamond,

As beautiful as a lily floating,

In crystal clear waters.

 

But his life, taken away so suddenly,

Cut short, ’tis such a tragedy,

Why must things be so?

The mother, she scarcely believes her eyes.

 

On the cold stone floor he lies,

“No” she whispers, “he is sleeping”,

My eyes fill with tears,

I cannot help weeping.

 

Wake up! Dear one, wake up!”

She cries again and again,

He does not, will never again, rise,

Still she calls his name, in vain.

 

I cannot feel what she feels,

I only taste a portion,

A mere shadow of her pain.

 

His body not yet cold,

She clutches at it desperately,

Speaks, rocking back and forth,

“You are not dead, you did not die!”

 

Oh, how hard it is to say goodbye,

To someone, who was in fact a part of you,

Nine months of discomfort, and the pain of birth,

Were all forgotten, as he came to this earth.

 

As she, fondly, gazed into his face,

Seemed to be glowing, emitting rays,

Of happiness, love and warmth,

And the tiny fingers; around hers they curled.

 

Heaven nor earth could separate them,

But now it was done, her fury unfurled,

And she shrieks as her husband,

The father watches on.

 

Jaw grimly set,

Pain etched on his face,

The tears not dried yet,

“Dear God why didn’t you take me?”

 

The mother calls out,

“Not him! Oh no not him!”

The world, it seems bleak and dim,

She is but a phantom.

 

The laughter gone from her very soul,

The depression, a bottomless black hole,

It will suck me in too, so I turn away,

I cannot bear to watch; I cannot stay.

 

It is indeed a gruesome scene,

In all truth, it is obscene,

A child so young does not deserve to die,

The monsters who did this must not survive.

 

Our children will keep dying,

As long as they are alive,

We must stand up,

We must unite.

 

To put an end to this bloodshed,

To put a stop to this plight,

For I never wish to see again,

I don’t want to be stained,

 

By the pale suffering in a mothers face,

Or the anguish in her eyes.

The sense of utter hopelessness,

When a child dies.

Kinza Mazhar

Kinza Mazhar

A mother of two who has worked as a language trainer and research editor in Singapore. Kinza is also a qualified ESL instructor.

The views expressed by the writer and the reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of The Express Tribune.