One
Maybe he's six,
Maybe he just embodies what a six-year-old
Is supposed to look like,
The point is-
He is the kind of small that could crawl into a
Cougar's den without getting caught.
Yet, not small enough to escape the
The manchild's draft.
Two
Draft
(Noun)
A current of cool air moving in a closed space
Three
A current of boy army, of toy soldier, breeze in to
Enclose Damascus.
Four
The bowels of his mother turn
(A ghost-womb belly kick
At the flashflood of her baby boy's face)
Churn into wanting,
Then rumble into waste.
At last she has emptied herself of him.
Five
Who
Really
Is
More
Death
Than
A
Woman
Bereft?
Six
The soft skin inside his elbow
Is tickled by a
Smooth, round bomb:
The corner of his lips crinkle
Upward at the "touch" of her
"Fingertips".
Seven
From miles across Aleppo's rubble,
The child and his bomb
Could be confused for a
Mother cradling her suckling infant
Until he falls asleep full of milk,
Pool of it dribbling down his chin.
Eight
There are two types of hunger:
The kind you can kill
Or the kind that kills you.
Nine:
And so they salvage their own city,
Bullying milk from a thin bovine's breasts,
Desperate cannibal feeding off his own flesh.
The streets reek of hurt and desolation.
Ten:
Scrawny-man-with-big-anger-
But-her-little-boy's-eyes bumps her at the market.
He turns in her stomach
Yanks back her breath.
Death is a living thing
She calls it by his name.
ABOUT// A Syrian boy soldier and his mother
Isaiah 2:4- He will render judgment among the nations and set matters straight respecting many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning shears. Nation will not lift up sword against nation, nor will they learn war anymore.
Isaiah 2:4- He will render judgment among the nations and set matters straight respecting many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning shears. Nation will not lift up sword against nation, nor will they learn war anymore.
