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.