The day I lost my hair
mother had dragged me out to shop
the wait for lulls in incessant crossfire
had not come to a stop
and the children were hungry
for more than just candy
check points where faces
had traces of
trashed deaths
dying answers in stillborn questions
struggling to extract
the last breath of a meaning
for the wait
it was then that the shots hailed
into the skull of a walking doll
and life stopped
right there in the remaining footprints
of the once skipping child
it was right there
that her hair came down
with a thud
on the dirt
And I walked home…
Without my mother
Who was still shopping, not stopping
and I sheared my head
and shred the tresses
into the waiting mirror…
Thikra who was once Iraq's # 1 ballerina still lives in Iraq with her mother. This is what happened when they shot a child at a checkpoint 'by accident' in front of her...
