The age of miracles pretending to be
this wonderful illusion wanting to
see our hearts depths and story
lines wanting to leave the eyes and
trips stuck in our throats wanting
to achieve endless motion, desire
to believe in our human sacrifice
wanting a reprieve from monsters hiding
wanting to pounce on dreams carried
by mothers who see where their children
die over Christmas Eves and Eids
covered in sooth, ageless, filthy reprieves
of our fathers fighting to defend
what forever leans on borders and desires
of those not here, oh dear, so many
illusions and lies forgotten here, wanting
to escape this fear,
but
the quiet voice rings true, don’t fret,
just disappear in this lonely space between
crumbled buildings and dust, streets
wanting to swallow bodies on display,
while children hide behind their
desire to live and play, try and
die, why live, die you human burden
on this Earth, lonely animal, delay
is no longer an option, while
internet watches in fascination that
the stories are real, feel and prevail
guess if it is so important to you than do
live and collect the flesh of Aleppo
day after day, curtail the need and
your own desire, engrail this currency
of your own sorrow,
and me
I stand on the edge of the dusk
forgetting the soft brushes of skin
on my arm, forgetting the sun on
my warm skin, melting butter on the
stove, forgetting the smiles in the den,
forgetting the wren down on the slope
and delicious scones, armies of presents
hordes of decorations, mindless epitaphs
on our scornful stones, bones, forgetting
bones and drones spying on my chews.
Photo Credit: Bengin Ahmad Flickr via Compfight cc
