Qamar

Here in the dead of time, buried deep into the falling night, I sit with the moon.
When all is quiet and peaceful at last, when fluffy dreams enter you mind, making your beautiful eyes flutter, I sit by the moon, her half orb shining upon my words and guarding your angel sleep.

The moon and I, we’re neighbors, or so says the song. Regardless of where I’m sitting, it’s the same moon that my people can see, the same moon that guards children’s dreams.

And nightmares.

You see, while our night is peaceful, only disturbed by the whisper of the wind softly caressing the lush leaves of the surrounding trees, while I sit here, the smoke of my cigarette drawing arabesques above me, others can not find enough peace to sleep, or finally exhale at the end of a long day.

But they, they are children of the moon, like you and me, and they deserve the same oblivion that we take for granted. When sleep eludes them, while we sit comfortably in a never ending dialogue with the sky, they keep hearing the sound of screams, the sound of death pounding at their door.

And it isn’t fair, and it isn’t pretty, and while the moon orbits around us, we stay silent to their plea, as guilty as the culprits bringing deaths and destruction at their doors.

Everyone deserves solace and comfort, not just you and me, but a guilty conscience or appeals to the heavens have never brought anyone any respite.

And so we close our eyes for these blissful hours, rendering our hearts and souls to the stars, but while we do so, let us not forget to fight.

For those who are stranded on the verge of humanity never give up on themselves. And they teach us a lesson.
The biggest there is, the lesson of life.

And so let us kiss the moon, let us keep our eyes open to the children of the moon, and fight, as they do, fight for a moon that shines above children’s dreams.

And stops the nightmare.

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