Pieces

PIECES (°copyright)

By Anna Rene Greene Dell’Era

You didn´t have to cut him in pieces

You didn´t have to take a soul so young

You didn´t have to try and teach us

You didn´t have to take somebody´s son 

Moroccan boy, tanned brown skin

Already when young

Trying to fit in

This town of Alsace

Province in France

Had a difficult time

Just givin´ him a chance

His eyes big and brown

Loaded with curiosity

Growing pains

are normal for a boy

finding his way.

As a child, he visited my home

with his Sisters and Mom

spit grape seeds on my floor

I told him, “No more!”

The director of the school

Mentioned that he was a problem child

I replied,

“Find a way to help him

The system must not fail this time.”

I often saw him

Standing on the street

His eyes phased over with indifference

His soul put to sleep.

He told our daughter often

“If someone bothers you

Don´t cut them any slack

Just let me know

I gotcha back.”

The helicopters flew low

The noise sandwiched the dogs` barks

My man and I took a walk by the Rhein river

Stillness enveloped the parks.

A body was being searched

We were told

A chill flooded my spine

My temperature went cold.

Next day our daughter laid down the news

“They found the body, Mama

And you know it is.”

“It’s Walid”, she said.

Then a tug grasped my heart

I stood in shock

My jaws clamped ….locked.

When I finally found again my tongue

I reminisced about all the black bodies  hung,

From the trees of Mississipppi and Alabama

And then I said “Damn, this ain´t nothing but

Lynching in this French provincial town!”

Walid´s body had been

Burned

But his bones would not disappear

So they chopped him in pieces

To discard of the fear. 

The police discovered the evidence from Switzerland to France

Body parts in plastic garbage bags

A soul, murdered brutally,

will continue to dance.

Kembs village went silent

Tragedy by chance.

It took me three days

But I knew I had to go

Family of African descent

Morocco, blood still flows.

Majority Muslim by faith,

All gathered as family

Men in one room gathered chanting

Women heads bowed and covered, in another room,  subtly grieving,

I, comforting the Mother,

Offered my plea

Raised my steadied voice to the heavens

Requested solace from Thee.

In spirit, lyrics were placed on my tongue

Souls seemed lifted as my notes to God,  rung.

The father, in the other room, slowly

approached the women´s cocoon.

God´s song released his tears

Though Allah is his tune.

They didn´t have to chop him in pieces

They didn´t have to take a soul so young

They didn´t have to try and teach us

They didn´t have to take somebody´s son. 

Anna Rene Greene Dell’Era

February 25, 2009

Walid Isohl, 21 year old Moroccan man,  was murdered in Kembs, France in  March 2008.

December 2010, the murderer of Walid,  was granted his freedom.

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About whenquiet

A child of God, opinionated, survivor, eloquent, elegant, exquisite, and humble, loving life and shining light to those who are in the shadow.
This entry was posted in Contemplation, Life Perspective, Poetry and stories, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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