The Year of the Weeping Crescent, by Rang-Zeb Rango Hussain

51715797_550942465394922_2106207865529171968_n

In memory of a poet and musician killed at the hands of the Chinese regime yesterday.

Advertisements

Tonight There are no Lights in Gaza, by Rang-Zeb Rango Hussain

Gaza - Rango

Tonight…
..
A child clings to the cold chest of his mother,
A brother sees his sister crushed in death’s sleep,
..
Tonight…

A city is shelled from morning till the dead of night,
A nation is hit hard from high in the burning sky,
..
Tonight…
..
A desert family is decimated beyond all measure of hope,
A sound pierces through the hearts of those deep in grief,
..
Tonight…
..
The Lord of All knows,
The mother of a dead child knows…

For them all by Rang-Zeb Rango Hussain

For the Refugees who have lost their all,
For the Homeless who are abandoned,
For the Forsaken who have no one,
For the Voiceless who go unheard,
For the Loveless who grieve for trust,
For the Dead who perished in poverty’s fire,
For the Orphans who dream no more,
For the Betrayed who died far from home,
For Humanity in a time of mass poison.

for them all

The Hand of Knowledge by Rang-Zeb Rango Hussain

“It’s a surprise…
Come here my sweet angel.”

She shyly steps over to him
And in his palms places her gentle hands,

“Come my doll,
Let me place this blindfold upon you.”

He ties a blindfold across her downcast eyes
and tapes her surprised lips.

“Now, sweet angel of the Lord,
Hold out your right hand to receive your gift.”

She does…

There is a sharp swish!
His knife slices through her first finger of trust.

“Want an education, eh?”
Her forefinger will never again index another book.

“Want a career, eh?”
Her signature finger is cut to the bone,

“Want to improve yourself, eh?”
He hacks off her trembling little finger.

“Want to discover yourself, eh?”
He peels off the identity from her thumb.

Her trust, her love, her dreams,
They lie there scrawled in the ink of her blood.

But in time there is a vow made,
She promises to learn to write again.

Her left hand will right the attack upon her rights,
She will resurrect and join the cracks in her dreams.

The Girl in the Photo by Rang-Zeb Rango Hussain

That was what they called her,
But her name was Phan Thị Kim Phúc,
It spoke louder than the lacerated burn marks upon her back,
The bird plane dropped an egg of fire
and left the stink of the slaughterhouse,
of dead cattle and the sweat of fear leaked through the air
on that dread June day.

She knew the crunch of boots snapping bones
in the wild jungle yard,
Hard boots,
Cold boots,
Heavy boots,
Nailed boots,
Boots that stamped your soul with death.

The barbed wire rose high into the blue sky,
It curled around the camp
in a grip tighter than a vice,
Her home torched to the ground,
Her school scraped off the ground,
And then
In the summer of ’72 they tore her soul in two.

FILE - In this June 8, 1972 file photo, crying children, including 9-year-old Kim Phuc, center, run down Route 1 near Trang Bang, Vietnam after an aerial napalm attack on suspected Viet Cong hiding places as South Vietnamese forces from the 25th Division walk behind them. A South Vietnamese plane accidentally dropped its flaming napalm on South Vietnamese troops and civilians. From left, the children are Phan Thanh Tam, younger brother of Kim Phuc, who lost an eye, Phan Thanh Phouc, youngest brother of Kim Phuc, Kim Phuc, and Kim's cousins Ho Van Bon, and Ho Thi Ting. (AP Photo/Nick Ut)

FILE – In this June 8, 1972 file photo, crying children, including 9-year-old Kim Phuc, center, run down Route 1 near Trang Bang, Vietnam after an aerial napalm attack on suspected Viet Cong hiding places as South Vietnamese forces from the 25th Division walk behind them. A South Vietnamese plane accidentally dropped its flaming napalm on South Vietnamese troops and civilians. From left, the children are Phan Thanh Tam, younger brother of Kim Phuc, who lost an eye, Phan Thanh Phouc, youngest brother of Kim Phuc, Kim Phuc, and Kim’s cousins Ho Van Bon, and Ho Thi Ting. (AP Photo/Nick Ut)