My Weapon

I am weak
I am done
I can no longer seek
I can no longer run

Hunger
and pain,
drowns all
in the humid rain

Humiliated
and debased
given up on
my pretending grace

Abused and molested
I know I am no fame
cold and tired,
I have no idea of
how long I can play this game

Hearing screams
and fighting tears
all they can do is
mock and leer
Can they feel my pain
or see the blood stain
I know they still refuse
and believe in everything
which isn't true

I am the mother
of Afghanistan,
cold within fear
seeing my child bombed
has left me with an empty heart
while his soul has gone
for a new start

I am the child
of Palestine,
they give me no choice
they give me no time
I am battered and neglected
and they pay no mind
nor reflect it

I am the beggar
of Pakistan,
poor and homeless
I like to think that
they are fair
but they spend their money
without a thought or care

I am the man
from Burma
being torn
limb by limb
they think I have no limit
so they do nothing
to prevent or stop it

I am the mother
of Muslims,
being accused for wrong deeds
but my heart does not lie
and in their eyes I can see,
the bloodlust and greed

They think I don't know
they call me a coward
they think I've lowered in defeat
but they don't know me,
I can jump high
even without standing on my feet


They see me handless
they call me powerless
and they are blinded
for they do not see
the blessing showered down
upon me

Some come running
while the others fly
they carry load guns
ready to attack
and try to shoot with
a loud screeching cry

I stand there
not impressed
or burdened with any stress
but I do grin inside
for there way of living
and the styles of how they dress

They think I will
fall down
and my name will die
but there are so many others just like me
and my name on their lips
will stay alive

My smile does not falter
as they come more near
they have no idea
of how much pain I can bear

And when the time comes
and they think I am fully defeated
I raise my hands into the air
and release my significant weapon

I am now
no longer a beggar
or a boy who's been abused
for I have raised my hands
up unto my lord
and I can know that I can never be refused

So hear me all enemies
and all Muslims,
who are afraid to what is to become
I don't need guns
or loaded tanks of bombs
what I have is more powerful
my only weapon,
My Du'aa