The Day the Wind Killed
The wind carried whispers, an innocent gasp,
Small hands reaching, too brief to clasp.
Cries of parents, helpless eyes,
Watching their children drop like flies.
A white cloud spread across the sky,
Through Halabja’s streets, where shadows cry.
Once laughter danced through springtime’s peak,
Children playing hide-and-seek.
Now silence lingers, raw and deep,
With one last breath, they fall asleep.
A mother’s arms, a child’s last breath,
Frozen in love, by a ruthless death.
The mountains, once their loyal friends,
Wept from a distance, unable to bend.
People fled, but one by one,
Fell beneath a poisoned sun.
Jasmine wilted, rivers ran dry,
A city swallowed by a gas-lit sky.
Yet from the ashes, voices remain,
Bearing scars, defying pain.
Some with wounds too deep to show,
Some with eyes that’ll never know.
Still, the land refused to fade,
It bloomed with roses the wind betrayed.
Once sorrow hovered, heavy and slow,
Now petals rise, and hope begins to glow.
Halabja, your name is etched in stone,
A wound unhealed, yet not alone.
Statues stand with stories told,
A father clutching his lifeless son, forever cold.
Five thousand roses, silenced in bloom,
Carried by wind to an early tomb.
For every heart that dares recall,
Your name still rises, unbroken, tall.
I know you’ve soared to heavenly skies,
But you live forever in our hearts, where love never dies.
Lana Bamarni
