Two Brothers, One Heart

Chapter 49

Tears fall like rain, a deluge of pain
A diagnosis that brings only shame
A word that's whispered, a fate that's sealed
Cancer, a thief that steals and reveals

The weight of the world, a burden to bear
A body that betrays, a soul that's bare
The ache of loss, the fear of the unknown
A journey that's dark, with no place to call home

The tears fall like rain, a cry from the heart
A scream that's silent, a work of art
A plea for healing, a prayer for peace
A desperate cry, a soul that won't cease

The cancer cry, a sound that's so raw
A pain that's so real, a hurt that won't go away
It's a cry for help, a cry for hope
A cry that's whispered, a cry that's scope

So let the tears fall, let the pain be real
Let the cry be heard, let the healing reveal
For in the darkness, there's still a light
A chance for healing, a chance for life.

~Islam Saleh

"Islam, my dear, how are you feeling today?" Aunt Bridget asked, her voice like a warm hug on a cold day. She sat beside Islam's bed, her eyes filled with concern, her hands gentle on Islam's fragile arm.

"I'm feeling...empty," Islam replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath catching in her throat like a sob. She felt like a deflated balloon, limp and lifeless.

Aunt Bridget's face creased with worry, her brow furrowed like a field after a storm. "What can I get you, dear? Some water, perhaps?"

Islam shook her head, the motion sending a wave of pain through her skull, like a crack of thunder on a summer day. "No, thank you. I just want to sleep."

Zaynab entered the room, a bright smile on her face, like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. "Good morning, my love! I brought you some fruit salad."

Islam's stomach churned at the sight of the colorful salad, the sweet aroma of the fruit like a punch to her gut. "I'm not hungry, Mama."

Zaynab's face fell, her eyes clouding like a stormy sky. "But you need to eat, Islam. You need to keep your strength up."

Islam forced a smile, her lips curving upward like a crescent moon. "I'll try, Mama. I promise."

As Zaynab fed her the salad, Islam felt like a baby bird, helpless and dependent. The fruit was sweet on her tongue, but she couldn't shake the feeling of despair, like a shroud that wrapped around her heart.

"Let's play a game, Islam," Zaynab said, her voice like a gentle breeze on a summer day. "What if you got out of here, what would you do?"

Islam's eyes drifted to the ceiling, her mind a blank slate, like a canvas waiting for paint. "I don't know, Mama. I don't have dreams anymore."

Zaynab's face fell, her eyes welling up with tears, like a river overflowing its banks. "Don't say that, Islam. You have so much life left to live."

But Islam just shook her head, the motion like a leaf rustling in the wind. "I'm tired, Mama. I just want to sleep."

As Zaynab hugged her tightly, Islam felt a lump form in her throat, like a stone blocking the flow of emotions. She wanted to cry, to scream, to release all the pent-up feelings inside her, but her body felt heavy, like lead weights holding her down.

The nurse entered the room, a bright smile on her face, like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. "Islam, someone sent you flowers and a get-well card."

Islam's heart swelled with gratitude, like a balloon filling with air. She loved flowers, their sweet fragrance and vibrant colors, like a symphony of beauty.

As the nurse placed the bouquet on the bedside table, Islam's eyes widened, like a child seeing a wonderland. The flowers were a kaleidoscope of colors, a rainbow of hope in a world gone gray.

"Who sent them?" Islam asked, her voice barely above a whisper, like a secret shared between friends.

"The card says Michelle," the nurse replied, her voice like a gentle breeze on a summer day.

Islam's face lit up, like a lamp turned on in a dark room. Michelle was her friend, her confidante, her partner in crime. They had shared countless memories, like a treasure trove of laughter and tears.

As Islam read the card, her eyes welled up with tears, like a river overflowing its banks. Michelle's words were like a warm hug, a gentle reminder that she was not alone.

"Thank you, Michelle," Islam whispered, her voice like a prayer, like a wish sent to the universe.

As the nurse left the room, Islam felt a sense of peace settle over her, like a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She knew she was loved, like a precious gem in a treasure chest.

And in that moment, Islam knew she would fight, like a warrior armed with hope and determination. She would rise above the pain, like a phoenix from the ashes, and shine like a star in the night sky.