As my unsteady hands moved through the dusty brown curls of my baby boy, I couldn’t help but notice his still black eyes that glared deep into my fragmented soul.

The depth of his motionless black eyes took me back to the enormous waves that kept rocking our boat

Mother Nature tried her hand at putting us to sleep.

The darkness of his still black eyes swept me of the ground and threw me into the war zone.

The grounds, a puzzle with missing pieces.

The coldness from his silent black eyes was a reminder of those numbing nights in the woods.

Our tents, a cover for our secret worships.

The peace in his tranquil black eyes was ironic to how this world was in pieces, torn apart by religious rivalry and lots of accusing still black eyes longed for an open space at the burial grounds.

The final resting spots, only abode where peace prevailed.

So my trembling hands moved past the still black eyes of my baby boy, blocking away the sorrows of this world that bore into my watery eyes.

Rest in peace my world, I sighed.