The polished floor which once echoed with the sound of black school shoes
is now sticky red.
Near the door lies an upturned chair.
Under the table, a broken pair of spectacles.
Bullet holes punctuate the wall.
A haven of education has become a slaughter house
in a heartbeat.

What have you done?
Your brothers’ blood cries up to me from the earth.

For you.
We honour you.
Not our brothers — infidels.
An eye for each eye.
We will never stop till we eliminate the cancer.
We do this for you.
In your name.

But God does not hear.
He is weeping for his children.
For both of them.