For the ones the genes took. Photo by Wendy Scofield on Unsplash.
We prayed the Jinns would not take you That when the dust from your fighting feet, and the chill of the terror of the night would lift you would return in peace.
With our knees we ground a hole into the ground from constant supplication, in hope that you would be whole again but the genes would not let up
And like a sapling cut down in its prime you are becoming a fading memory.