I want you to be strong, my boy. I see those tears you are holding back. The pretence of being brave and the smile you’re trying to force but you forget my boy, mama knows you like no other.
I wish I could hold you and keep you secure in my arms. Keep you safe with me but now is the time for you to be Khalid bin Waleed. To join the rest and be amongst the men calling for Ya Adl, to bring back the justice we need. To fight your way to glory, to bring back the land of Al Shaam we once had.
But before that I want you to be, just Abdullah.
The Abdullah that blows raspberries when Mama asks for a kiss. The Abdullah that giggles at his awful Mama’s singing. The Abdullah who squeals when Baba walks in from work. The Abdullah that soon grows from his footsteps to his first football match. For you to be foolishly playing with the neighbouring boys in our yard. To have not a care in a world until that call from your Baba to come inside. The Abdullah that has his head sunk into science books. When all that lays on your mind is your next invention.
Not the Abdullah that will breathe his first breath in a world unbeknown. For children’s cries not to be a normality but an anomaly of our surroundings. Not to fear for your safety whilst stepping on to the front yard. Not to lose one of your friends daily.
Not to be counting the bombs dropping to work out if it is the last. Not to be hearing your Mama cry every night. Not to see your Baba staggering in bleeding from the attacks.
Rather you be inside my Abdullah, to be here blissfully sleeping whilst we count down the days. To have those aimless kicks which signify your existence. To be tucked up inside away from the terror and bloodshed you’ll soon be inscribed in.
Away from your Mama’s protection and away from a childhood you will never endure.
39 days is all that is left..
