This is for Alan Kurdi, a three year old boy who drowned on september 2nd 2015 in the mediterranean sea,
while fleeing civil war in Syria.
Who was later coined the Little Syrian Boy.
We still remember your name.
This is for your brother,
And your mother
Rehan, whose tomb goes unmarked in
Those frigid waters.
For your family, rejected Asylum and forced to flee
The unforgiving current.
For your father’s sister,
A hairdresser in Vancouver,
Whom you never reached,
Who had to see you washed up on beach that would
Never know the feeling of your toes wiggling in its sands,
To know that you would never smile for her again.
This is for your father.
Who has been quoted saying there is nothing left for him.
Everything he wanted, everything he left for, is gone.
You were just a little boy.
I’m sorry that your life was as politicized as your death is.
Never held at anything but base value.
I’m sorry that your death is mourned
By the same people who would have taken it from you
This is for the little Muslim girl,
Who hides the quran in the bottom of her bookbag wrapped in cloth.
You will told that
By studying your faith you
Remember to prove them wrong.
Do not fall into the trap of becoming what everyone else will already see you as
Remember you are a flower,
Even when they treat
You like a weed.
You will still blossom just as sweetly.
You will be told you are oppressed
Before you are told you beautiful
Before you are even old enough to know what it means
And they will call your brother evil,
Make monsters under the bed out of the image of your father.
When the teacher at school calls you terrorist, remember that
Your mother used to sing you songs of your people.
Remember how ignorance is the only killer,
And pity those who live their lives afraid of little girls.
Be angry that you cannot read the teachings of your faith in peace
Be angry that you are politicized,
That people are taught to fear you in schools,
Be angry at Mitch McConnell,
Who passes legislature against your existence.
Scream at the top of your lungs.
Kick a wall.
You should be angry.
This is for every child growing up in a world that wishes it could pluck you
At the root.
You are not terror.
You are good in a world that
Has lost the ability to love,
My brothers and sister,
Children of the world,
There is still hope.
I may never know what it is,
The pain you suffer at the hands of the many,
But I will stand with you.
I will shout with you.
And I will be angry.