The Boy Has Disappeared

So there she stood, in front of the wooden door looking trough the alley, that was the last time she saw him running away from the house. It was September 15 1982. With his yellow fit t-shirt and black rusty jeans he ran to meet his friends. The mother was worried the father inhaling deeply his last pack of cigarette having a Quran on his lap.

16 September 1982, it was chaos. Women screaming helplessly, children crying for not knowing their fate the men struggling to keep them calm. Everyone has god’s name on their lips praying for an unknown angel to fly them away from that misery. The only sound that came was fierce and brutal. No one could ever describe it.

The streets were red, the air was black and the wind was grey. The horrible sound continues to play for days. The alleyway was a pool of blood as if it was raining red. Chirping birds were silent everyone was quiet. Not a single din was made. The echo of terror was the only music that plays.

18 September 1982, the mother sat on the floor. Her black hijab was soaked with tears batting her chest calling for his name. No the boy never came. The father, holding his old keffiyah on his left hand, whiles the right hand bearing a picture of his only child. A smiling portrait of a young boy wearing a bright yellow t-shirt. It was his favourite bodysuit.

So the mother sang in anguish, she cried in grief, the world could only listen, but the world could never understand

The boy has disappeared, the boy has disappeared, the boy has disappeared, I am dying for his smile, I am dying for his laughter I am dying for his kiss, Oh the boy has disappeared, my love how could I live, my child how could I see, my only one how could i sleep. The boy has disappeared the boy has disappeared the boy has disappeared….

Remembering the massacre of Sabra & Shatila 16 Sept – 18 Sept 1982