[ ] wish for fire to loom in every corner, but turn to rabbits when lit on them. turn to parrots when its hands are stretched toward them. believe me, they're not ready to bear emptiness, despite being the flood stripping souls off their homes, everyday. Gaza, Rwanda , Kenya, Sudan, know the color of fire like their birth names. they know that the thirst for water is a request for airstrikes. for bullets. a boy met a boy his age, lonely, inside an uncovered canopy & asked: were your parents also swept away with a bomb blast? they both stared at each other until their eyeballs emitted the various homes they've seen turned to rubbles. they concluded: this is what the motherland gives us in place of a home—graves. once, a girl was told to draw a house. she drew a hollow in a woman's body. they queried her, why a hollow, why a body? she replied: it's not a hollow, it's a house built by a bullet—built by the finger at the end of the bullet. see, if you never know the difference between the sounds of M-16 and M4AI guns, or between the depths of hollow-point and round-nose bullets, do not abuse people providing droplets of water & cups of green hope for the citizens of these countries. their crescent moon is maimed. my six-year-old cousin knows death by the shimmies of the table and windows. she have seen the inception of many countries’ deaths on TV. everytime, her mouth exoduses laa ilaa'a illalla'u. meaning, if at all death comes, i leave no regrets. instead, i become another question for you to answer.