I. A mosque filled with prayers
   from the naïve
   trying to remain holy.

II. Under a smog of debris.
Caught beneath shards of fractured glass
and crushed by the remnants of the roof
a mother lies embracing her child.

III. The violent aftermath
of bones turned to dust
and the ash filled lungs
of thirty-three compressed figures.

IV. They listened to a higher power.
Convinced killing was for faith.
To become one with the city,
with Karbala and Shariah.

V. Now the boy can't play with his new toy car.
The mother can't bake him a cake.
The father can't find his family
when he comes home
with a fistfull of balloon strings
attached to the fading thoughts that they
are the ones forgotten.
No more than floorboards
and ceiling beams among the rubble.