The nightmare returns

The nightmare returns

It cannot be happening again: children ripped into ribbons of seared flesh, old women looking lost and small in the dark corners of temporary shelters, mothers shrieking in maddened grief over their dead babies, and grown men covering their faces in shock and sorrow, powerless to protect their families. Tall apartment blocks are again pancaked into ruins, buildings riddled with holes, their edges missing, resembling large chunks of cheese that have been nibbled by monstrous rats.

A hard rain’s gonna fall

A hard rain’s gonna fall

If you are not rain, my love
Be tree
Sated with fertility, be tree
If you are not tree, my love
Be stone
Saturated with humidity, be stone
If you are not stone, my love
Be moon
In the dream of the beloved woman, be moon
(So spoke a woman to her son at his funeral)
From the poem, “Under Siege,” by Mahmoud Darwish