Friday, July 31, 2015

In arson

Nothing left in my brain
but a child, lit a-blaze
like stars in the night sky

it all happened at night,
the glow, the extra heat
as if July is not sizzling enough
it never was a good month

this morning some wake up
from a nightmare,
the bus was late, the train ran
without consideration of sleep time

the luxuries of some are the basics
of others. Some woke up this morning
from a nightmare, apples were falling from
the sky. while some woke up into a nightmare

there's nothing left of him
but the months not lived,
a bottle half-melted,
and an inability to tell his mother:
Good morning.

This poem is dedicated to baby Ali Doabsa who was burnt alive this morning. The picture bellow is from the press, not mine but I don't have an idea of the photographer's name. The bib that's left of the baby says: Good morning mama.

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