Again, it is December / Second December / Without stars.

I shall not speak / mouth stitched, eyes blind / limbs amputated.

So many of us still / hold our phones, read / your poems — not / losing hope.

Every day, the farmer counts his goats on the besieged farm. / He says he counts them to guard / against the dogs / that lurk.

The sun rises over Gaza / piercing another suffocating night / after the atrocities of an endless siege. 

When divine justice / finally rings its bell / Will political cloaks / fend off hell?

I imagine our house under the wing of a dragon with all its warmth / Even if all that surrounds us is a tent.

I look at the sky and say / A year without you is a lifetime.

I stand at the edge of life / thin, like a knife / swinging between / present and past.

Trying to say / what “was” and “is” is so hard.

I’m a whisper caught in the city’s breath / An echo trapped in the screams of death.

You blinded me / No moon / No rainbow / No stars.