My apartment once was beautiful; hard woods and fine antiques. Then civil war came to Aleppo and the fight was in our streets. A improvised explosive shattered every pane of glass. Hot metal and the fog of war obliterate my past. I stand in the ruins of what was once our home. My family has been scattered; I am frightened and alone. I search about for some semblance of shattered civility. A Deutsche gramophone recording has survived along with me. My television has been shattered; I have no working phone. Just a working turntable and I listen, all alone, To the sweet strains of a chamber piece That was written by Chopin. I enjoy this scrap of harmony in a City of the dammed.
I based this piece on an AP photo of an older citizen of Aleppo sitting in the ruins of his bedroom, smoking his pipe and listening to a stereo record