Child's Loss

Palestinian children tackling grief

When your mother dies,

part of you must die with her.

But part of her lives on in you -

her strong roots still ground you,

though her branches no longer shelter your head.

You stand alone, swaying in the winds of exile.

You search the groves for her familiar form,

but find only empty holes where she once stood tall.

You cry out, but hear only hollow echoes of your own shattered heart.

One day you will bear fruit of your own,

and in your heavy branches and twisted trunk

your mother's spirit will find its home again.

Until then, you are alone in your exile,

alone in your grief.

and i am sorry.