One Ramadan

8 hours later:
On the day of the nightclub shooting
I held myself, alone, in a house of six.

15 hours later:
When the lowered sun dimly lit the Masjid’s asphalt,
my lips were sealed, lest my grief be revealed.

5 days later:
Every week he slammed terrorists on his mimbar, but
today, not a whisper for his homeland, for Orlando.

In the same moment,
The mimbar blued, his voice blurred
as silence held.