In memory of the twins, Asser and Ayssel, and their mother Jumana

In Gaza, Mohammad sought to register
the birth of his twins Asser and Ayssel,
only three days old, their names full of light.

Jumana, their mother, held them close
dreaming of a life yet to unfold.
Her hands had imagined their futures

but the sky exploded in a rage of missiles.
In an instant the house was a tomb.
The dreams she had nurtured became dust,

her twins, tiny flickers, extinguished.
Mohammad survived, his world shattered.
He walked from one form to another,

from birth certificate to death certificate,
less than ten minutes apart. Three days of life
shouldn’t end so abruptly. But war consumes,

it doesn’t wait for moments to ripen,
for dreams to bloom. In that stark space
between the birth certificate and the death

lies

the shattered pulse of a father

and the silenced songs of a new mother.