Colors Of Tears

Water is clear, so is a mother's tears.
She is burying her favorite son in-
Homs, Beirut, Baga, Paris....
every day in every corner of home.
Sun sets without a promise.
Cold wind whispers without a whistle.

I didn't cry for her tears.
I was busy in a coffee shop
telling others stories of-
colors of tears,
shadows of unequal deaths,
politics of asymmetrical humanity.