War: Requiem for the Dispossessed
The silhouetted bones of villages that no longer have names.
Feet that have traversed the shape of the globe, fleeing.
The wounded silence of the olive groves.
The tormented pangs of the wretched of the earth;
marching with broken feet, on shattered, bitter histories,
to the sweeping, harmonizing rhythms of falling shells
Pavements cobbled with murdered children.
Ruptured, lacerated arteries,
choking with the smothering dust of demolished dreams.
Your nation, a lucid bullet ridden patient, bleeding out.
Our psyche, an oozing, weeping homesickness.
Resistance, a crooked elegy scratched on gravestones.
Rebellion: a dispossessed bird, wandering, in search of land.
Burials and revolts, a laborious, communal occupation.
Grief, a narcotizing lull hemorrhaging us dry.