Bombarded, Rubbled, About to die. I, Ahmed and my friends yet dream, To eat a shawarma, A chicken sandwich, Not to have the roads closed, Waiting for a brother, To hear his mother calling him, Hopefully to see another morning. 5/11/2023
A mouse broke its bones on my neighbor's floor; I was called in mercy, as the angel of slaughter. My heart was the water in which it drowned. Days later, the wound closed when I met Circe: my silverish lion's stony fringe burned away in smolder. I left her starry thigh, her eyes like cask strength rye; They live, we sleep - No, we're awake and night is slow.