The Full Piece
(One Continuous Body)
There is a strange kind of unity in this world that politicians and media do not speak about. And it is not a unity built on agreements, borders or shared interests. A darker unity.
That one kind of unity that gathers quietly around innocence and small bodies. Yesterday morning, an Iranian school girl woke up and left her house like children have always done, without fear of becoming history or bad news..
Her hair was brushed.
Uniform was clean.
And backpack was pink.
Colors and Age everyone assigns to softness, innocence to birthdays & life.
To things that are supposed to survive. She walked out of the door thinking about ordinary things.
A classmate.
A lesson.
A normal day.
She did not know politics but she knew the story
of Satan and how evil started,
how it still exists until this day.
She knew evil exists but never
understood why it does!
She did not know that somewhere in a room she would never see, decisions had already been made.
By the time the day ended, she did not walk the way back home as usual. Only the pink bag did.
Pink? it does not argue with red. It absorbs it...
Gaza taught me that fabric holds memory better than flesh. And what returned to her family was not a daughter, but proof of a life once existed. this time there was no face to wash, No hair to braid one last time.
No small fingers to kiss goodbye.
Only grief, a similar one to the one everyone in Gaza knew nothing other than for 2 years. A grief heavy enough to end a household.
And then the statements began. Measured voices behind microphones. Carefully chosen words. Security. Stability.
Terror.
Nuclear weapons.
Rocks.
Necessary response. Regrettable outcome.
Except;
They didn't feel the need for these Procedures this time.
Because today is no longer yesterday. They do not care to hide it anymore, They don't have to.
They are Satanic, pedophiles who have Been in control for decades.
And that is their ritual,
That was the sacrifice.
"And when it is said to them, do not spread corruption on the earth, they say: we are only peacemakers." Qur'an 2:11
وَإِذَا قِيلَ لَهُمْ لَا تُفْسِدُوا فِي الْأَرْضِ قَالُوا إِنَّمَا نَحْنُ
"مُصْلِحُونَ
How easily destruction introduces itself as REFORM.
How confidently those who fracture the earth call themselves its GUARDIANS. Bomb a neighborhood.
Call it BALANCE.
Starve a population.
Call it PRESSURE.
Kill a child.
Call it DEFENSE.
And the world adjusts its
vocabulary accordingly.
and life MAGICALLY continuous!
People like to believe wars are chaotic
When they are not.
How can they ever be when: They have timing.
They have symbolism.
They have language engineered to Survive scrutiny.
They repeat themselves across countries.
A girl in Tehran.
A girl in Gaza.
A girl in Yemen.
A girl in Lebanon.
They do not even know each other's Names, they pray differently and they Speak in different accents.
But they die the same way?! As if one invisible script is being Performed in multiple cities at once?! As if the earth is being fed in Installments?!
Sunni in Gaza.
Shia in Tehran.
Christian in Beirut.
A true Jew of Yemeni origin in Sana'a. There are prayers in many languages. Different hands fold in different ways. Different scriptures are on Different shelves.
But grief does not recognize sect and Blood does not ask about doctrine. A mother does not yell in Sunni. She doesn't fall apart in Shia. She does not bury her child in Christian. She puts a child in the ground.
The earth does not separate people by their beliefs. It doesn't open and close differently for Different religions.
Theology doesn't matter to soil.
What separates us in life disappears in death. The same shade of red.
The same quiet after the explosion.
The same heavy weight in a father's hand, if exists. Dirty men fight about God.
The child pays the price.
And the sound that stays between the mosque, And church is not a sermon.
When language starts to turn itself inside out, When corruption is marketed as peace, When killing is packaged as security, And when children become numbers: People begin to feel that something is ending. Because innocence is being targeted with precision. Because the destruction feels orchestrated. Because somewhere, power is growing stronger Every time a small body disappears. And we pretend it is coincidence. A strategy.
We pretend it is complicated.
But a pink backpack turning red is not complicated. A child torn apart is not complicated. They are aiming at innocence with great accuracy, And destruction is only performed under a plan. It is not complicated, they are children And across borders, across sects, across flags The earth keeps receiving them. That is what really brings us together And should make us angry.
The fire in our mothers' chests should burn the Criminals who did the crime.
UNTIL THE GRIEF STOPS.
If you reached the end, I want you to know that I appreciate you and appreciate your continuous support and existence, you have made my life better, the life of 5 families of mine are better.
Thank you and i hope to meet all of you in person one day and give you the biggest and gayest weasel hug ever.