I write about the blank spaces between relationships.

The Fault Lines Within


Rubaan danced in the rain and then she never danced again. She had danced that night, despite warnings of a nearby bombing. Didn't she know that little girls in Syria had lost all rights to feel rain pouring through their golden hairs, The Summer rain wasn't theirs to treasure anymore but Rubaan didn't take heed.

Stupid Rubaan, Hurt Rubaan, Dead Rubaan!

The coffin wasn't as heavy as her Papa Yehya’s heart that day. He walked with slow, shuffling, deliberate steps. He wished that the distance to the grave increased. Somehow it made him feel she was still near him but holding her in a coffin was different than holding her in his arms...and when they lowered her into the tiny grave designed for a 5-year-old, it rained heavily. Rubaan loved the rain and the rain loved her in return.

"There's a God who lives somewhere in the skies as the old scriptures say, the God of the skies!’ Couldn't he have stopped the bomb splinters from hitting her.? He was right there in the skies…!" No one could console him. Yehya’s grief was beyond repair and then how could anyone overcome such an immense loss. She was the girl who grew up in his arms, on his shoulders, skipping and jumping in the very garden where he gathered pieces of her. There were so many of them that they had to stitch them up to form a recognizable human shape..!