For the ones the genes took. Photo by Wendy Scofield on Unsplash.
We prayed the Jinns would not take you
That when the dust from your fighting feet, and the chill of the terror of the night would lift
you would return in peace.
With our knees we ground a hole
into the ground from constant supplication, in hope that you would be whole again
but the genes would not let up
And like a sapling cut down in its prime
you are becoming a fading memory.