How much we died…

It wasn’t so good for the flood to surge,
for the water to carry the procession of the house on its bloody shoulders,
it wasn’t so good for long life to pose at the shore of endurance,
so said my pain to the electrocardiograph,
coffee overflows, just like news bulletins from the hospital,
and rescue teams lining up on monitors of the un-seeable.
No shadow dances with my palm,
nothing left in the day’s haggard pockets
but dizzying hunger and rows of rubble,
the flood surges and tanks chatter,

how many of us died, no matter,
how much we died, no remembrance to count.

It wasn’t so good to invite Gaza
to the kids’ barbecue party,
they slipped past childhood sorrow
leaving their hearts like birds
on the windows of the house
and flying away they left
the dishes empty as mirrors,
without waiting, they left
us to cook the gravel,
the firewood moaning,
the flood roaring, and the jets,
and war a hideous sky,
malice fermenting in a suspect helmet.
Background music for recurring holocaust.

How much we died, no matter,
burnt hands don’t know to count.

June 7, 2025 
Translated from Arabic by Ammiel Alcalay