The Earth is in pain. / It whispers, Stop! Stop!

I try to scrub your absence from my skin / but you were the sunlight, noor.

In the beginning was the Word, / and the Word was watched, / and the watchers were afraid of it.

Yesterday, I was young / my little sister, also young.

Enemies / eating the fruit of our trees / wearing our clothes.

Now all that’s left is ruins / The child and the poet / Both orphans.

Maybe in another life / you would have lost your tooth / instead of your eye.

We were sitting at the harbor / talking about university buses / about crowding / about nothing important.

What does it mean to be / a refugee / To always feel /something missing.

Wash us with the water of hope / and clothe us in a white garment / not a shroud. 

A new year, / they say. / But here— / it’s an alarm. / Not hope. / Not renewal.

After a year, the body of Santa is / still under the rubble along with / his bag of gifts and the list of names / of the children.