Poem: Shrapnel

O you who search for songs here,
turn back –
there are none

only screams
drilling through deaf ears
to reach
empty brains and emptier hearts

O you who search for knowledge here,
leave now –
you shall find nothing

but pens
bleeding ink, and children
leaking blood
onto empty notebooks

O you who search for the school here,
you know nothing:
this is a graveyard

where
half-read lessons
and half-eaten lunches

mourn
the unread and uneaten

where
the ghosts
of half-dreamt dreams

haunt
all the tomorrows
yet to dawn

Standing My Ground

I never learn.

I try to run away from the blood and gore every time. I run, run, run as fast as my feet can take me, as far as I can make it from the epicentre of the earthquake that threatens to dismantle my illusion of happiness, of safety, of peace. Away from the nucleus, so I can be a valence electron and break away from the despair that pulls me inward.

But as much as I close my eyes - however hard, however long - I can never see the whites of my eyelids. It is always stained red. A red that refuses point-blank to be washed off, to be bleached.

As much as I run, the aftershocks always topple my rosy bubble.

And as much as I try to break away, I end up in another atom with yet another nucleus of power, of propaganda and poisonous hate.

“Here I am
Deceived into silence.

A silence that corrupts
Corrodes
Corrals me into guilt

And now I learn:
Silence is only golden
Not gold.”

So, from the depths of the place where all things rusty get cast off, I reclaim my voice. Because light doesn’t come from ignoring darkness, but from acknowledging it.

My voice maybe scratched-up and bent now, but it can still make a sound. And it will.

In solidarity with justice. With peace. With Gaza.