Orland Park Prayer Center

The Prayer Center of Orland Park

Destruction, the scenery around
A reporter astonished by what she has found
In the rubble, they lay without sound
Body after body, stacked into a mound
Though this area may not be the place she calls home,
The reporter stands tall and as stiff as stone
She realizes it’s not only her mind, but the house that’s been blown
In awe, she steps back, only to find more bodies thrown
In a state of disbelief, she knows what she must do
She bolts towards the bodies sky high, but then hears her cue
As the woman’s heart races, she turns to the camera crew
With a slow step forward, she tripped over a child’s shoe
The shoe brings questions to mind, she demands to ask
Looking around for the child, it is now time for the broadcast
The microphone shaking in fear, she wants to do this fast
“On the air!” shouts one, as the reporter speaks of Palestine at last
While she stands informing the world of what’s going on
All she can think of is the shoe, and to whom it belongs
Her mind races, who will care for him, who will feed him at dawn
The reporter then thinks of the parents who most likely are gone
She knows she has to speak of the genocide lightly,
She talks about the casualties, yet changes the total slightly
Telling the world the somewhat honest truth she does nightly
With a timid smile on her face, she finishes her report politely
As the camera stops rolling, she hastens to the side
Tumbles to the ground heavy breathing as she cries
She thinks to herself, “no one knows the truth due to my lies”
But she knows, if she was to tell the truth, she would have to hide
With the shoe in hand, she rises suddenly
A small child appears in front of her, with no company
The child lost for words, but alive luckily
With his eyes dark and wide, his stomach growls hungrily
The reporter, with an uncomfortable feeling, looks at the ground
With a lowered gaze, she sees the matching shoe to the one she found
The woman stunned, looks towards the child, but begins to frown
Her assumption was correct, his family is dead; he’s alone in this town
She wants to be there for him but doesn’t know if she should
He speaks in mercy towards her, she doesn’t understand, she’d speak if she could
The boy pleading and begging in tears as the woman silently stood
Without thinking, she grabs the child to run to safety, to do something good
She runs with no actual knowledge of where to go
She runs until she finds a safe and hollow place below
The woman lays the child down to examine him head to toe
She places her hand on his side, as the tears begin to grow
As her eyes meet his hip, she notices an excessive amount of bleeding
The boy in agonizing pain, pushes her away screaming, crying, and pleading
His side has been deeply penetrated, medical attention he’s needing
The woman applies pressure as the boy begins receding
The overwhelming amount of blood continues to drip down his thigh
Then from a distance, a crowd of screams arises, war cry
She normally does not pray, but now lifts her hands to the sky
“Please God please, don’t let this child die!”
With a broken pulse, she holds the child in her lap
The woman then removes her sweater to place the child in a wrap
She cradles him, his eyes blink slowly, as if he’s taking a nap
Inhaling his last breath, he becomes unresponsive, the woman begins to snap
She kneels next to the child, putting on his other shoe
She takes her last look, wiping away a tear or two
Heart broken, she says goodbye to the child she hardly knew
The reporter runs back to where the camera is stationed
Through with this nation, along with its dictation
This war, a creation, an absurd abomination
In this location, the reporter begins her presentation…
The mic rises to her mouth as she gives her report
Out of respect for the child’s life, she tries to keep it short
From this experience, she knew war is no sport
But this is no war, a genocide, no place to resort
She recaps her experiences in Beloved Palestine
The world’s largest prison with never ending time
Palestine, robbed of its independence yet not seen as a crime
Palestine, where freedom is an immense climb…

By Yasmeen Sheikah


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