Slivers

our rainbow lives.
bending crooked beautiful.
when she called herself
an evolutionary error,
and laughed at her own joke
without any need for me to confirm,
I envied her.
she asked me why I don’t have a display picture,
does it say something about me?
she replied, eyes still wet and glued from her laugh,
does it not?
i was looking for passion up her sleeves,
coyly, and later unashamedly,
i found it on her nipples
cutting air like butcher’s knives;
i could not tell her how much
she reminds me of parts of me
i miss like an old dying plant, dry, un-watered.
she said we are so many lives
that to call her a fire today
is to deny her her grief
which can douse a hundred
thousand fires of burning Troy;
she breathed deeply in between
her expanding diaphragm
made space for all the words
and lives she churned out
like Arachne, like Minerva;
how you deny me
and how i deny myself
and then how I deny you,
she said, harms nothing
in either of us.
nothing kills us, really,
she said.

monochrome grey of aleppo

The city is crying in a single colour of grey
for the shade of a tree that now bends into a
turned and twisted burnt barbed wire,

The city is crying in a single colour of grey
while mosques turn to bony skeletons,
and people to swabs of rubble.

The city is crying in a single colour of grey
while mothers take new sons to their breasts.
It will find words. It will write.

It will weep again in memory.