A father’s tragic loss, the story of loosing a child. By Mumtaz Moosa Saley 

He sat on the edge of the street clinging onto his child, and gazing up, he says a little prayer. He strokes his little boy’s hair and thoughts of happy ever after evades him. 
He sat there pondering about how excited his little boy was five minutes ago, because today he found bread so that his son would not go hungry. The images of his sweet little boy flashed through his mind as he sat there stroking his son’s hair. 
Neighbours called him and told him it was time, but he shook his head. fyor all he wanted was just one more moment with his son. They would not budge and fury filled his heart as he picked up his son’s fire engine next to him. He held on as they tried to pull his son away from him. “You monsters!” he screams. He knew he had to accept they were not monsters, that they were all he has left. 
He placed his son atop a cold bed, and there, rage had consumed him. He had to do something to take his boy home with him. Rage overcame him at that moment and even thou he felt guilty, he began to question his faith. Looking at his son smile he thought of how far they had come, how much they had lost and how heartache had consumed them both. Why me? Why today? Why us? How can we not hate when injustice has become life? 
He washed his son’s hair and thought of the dreams they shared, the doctor he would become. He held onto his son a little longer, for his son had died, he was gone. A week before, his wife was brutally raped and killed while his daughter went missing. His five year old daughter had vanished and he sits there wondering, what can a father do? He blames himself, a father is a protector, and he couldn’t save his children.  
He thought back to the passing week, and in that week, most of his family members were killed in front of him. Within a week he buried ten family members, in that week he buried the love of his life and the mother to his children, and in that week he has lost a son and a daughter. Yet some where deep down, he had tawakkul. No one could and would understand how he could have so much faith even thou he was guilty of loosing faith. But all he uttered, was ease shall come.. 
The future looked bleak, death was easier to wish upon then change. Today the future of Syria has died, the change that would lead the most loved land had died. For him it was difficult not to hate, not to fight back. For him and many others hate consumed them day in and day out because nothing is promised. People promised to help but none of them prayed. People parted with their money but no one prayed. So tonight as he buried his son he prayed for humanity, he prayed as he sobbed, for he didn’t want another parent to bury a child. He prayed because he is Syria.


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