Against oblivion

Appeared in January 2025 in like a field poetry journal

Against oblivion*

The moon presses on the night,

cruel like stainless steel, and sleep

is too light for my closed eyes,

too wary, too mute for a night

of rockets for falling stars;

I wish I could cry - but crying

seems too petty, too paltry,

too organic for the rumbling

and drumming of metal light.

A birdless dawn cuts the sky

as a coup de grâce, bleeding

a slow sunrise; the hungry

screams of children eat the last

murkiness of the night away

making way for the heat to squat

on plastic tents for the rest

of the day, like death squats

over a concentration camp,

but crying seems decadent,

self-centred, pointless like sleep;

in my mind, I rehearse my death

and swirl words against oblivion

like a dervish whirling on sand

I record my farewell, recite

and share a minute of the meagre

remainder of a canted life

I post the communal lament

of our imminent death put out

from canted half-mast minarets

and then the day embarks on foot,

following new orders to march

towards another unsafe zone.

*Inspired by a social media posts about people trying to survive the Gaza Genocide 2024.