Rattling; a swift, strong to-fro god of quietness
Of collective anticipation: everything lurches
From wall to wall, accumulates
In suddenly-spotlit corners. The news
Of the bombing splashed from the sky
And shook the country awake.
Sightless in confusion, we turned
To terror for comfort, and everywhere,
The crooked bells of fury
Were waking each other up.
I sank on my bed. I was shuffling
From app to app, and you
In France, were excited too. I was waiting
Only for you.
My piston-heart small against the night
Fraught with petty indecisions
Of an exhausted love, it breathed the scattered wisps of news
And sneezed, sneezed to let you through.
I was sliding the apps over each other
And always, you appeared: taut as
Sterilised steel, scorching hot
With your careless endearment.
Do you think that there will be a war?
Well, I heard they shot down some planes.
You say you will miss me, as a joke.
But I am here, incapable of humour
Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting
My eyes dim like a low-battery lamp
And the glitter of your name settles
Like dust on the floor.
The 3 am clock is awake with me
And I know I cannot afford to skip one more lecture
But 00 turns to 30 and then 40 and I think
I will just make the coffee a little bit stronger.
-
But what am I awake for?
I load, reload the news. An hour ago, for the first time,
A word, like a broken tooth, rang its metallic sound:
Home. And I shivered from the sincerity of it.
My hands are tied to the pungent hands of this land
My words are here. When I yell,
It is these broken streets that hear me.
My paltry heart is fed on its blood. Its abuse
Is indistinct from its love. This grotesque
Is the only love.
And they tell me, sympaths from far off lands: leave.
The mosques are awake and singing
I do not care for prayer or god. But I permit
The sounds of worship tease me.
I permit the thought of you instill me.
Although sweetness runs stale from disuse
I caress - caress you still before sleep.
My hatered is indistinct from this.
My - my mumble-mouth, my hesitancies
My thin laugh and my thin silence
I can afford to heed you
No more than this. I can turn, return
In stuttering strides; and you play
So beautiful, with your sharp soft face
But the night crumbles. The mosques
Have sung and knelt in prayer. The impossible
Hours pass - one after another.
-
There are questions. Will the schools open?
Will there be more attacks? Did you
Hear the fighter jets too?
Nothing ever dies but man, and nothing ever lives.
A white sun spreads its wings
And content,
I bid your absence goodnight and sleep.
-
[In the morning, I will take the little car to 160
And turn lustrous sharp corners
Because the roads will be empty].
07.05.2025