“Ghazal 28 (‘like this’)” by Bilal Moin (Aflatoon)

August 25, 2024Posted by

Bilal Moin (Aflatoon)

GHAZAL 28 (‘LIKE THIS’)

italicized fragments borrowed from Bukowski, Rumi, Darwish, and Gopalakrishna Adiga

Only grass is hurt when two bulls lock horns like this.
Even the sun was ashamed. Were we born like this?
 
Galilee drowns in tears, swallowing aid into the abyss.
Ashes fall like snowflakes; her scarf, adorned like this.
 
“Mama is in heaven.” Where is this promised garden?
Her body lies beyond right and wrong, strewn like this.
 
“The cypress broke like a minaret.” Its bounty borne of bone.
Walls and watchtowers witnessed as hills were torn like this.
 
A one-armed bandit, he played with Tom and Jerrycans;
quiet as a ghost, his spirit, a stubborn thorn like this.
 
Nine-years old, stuffing his mouth with a fistful of
strawberries—the red lingers. He’s gone, like this.
 
Jacob’s ladder once reached to heaven from here.
Now he climbs over rubble, weary and worn like this.
 
With blunt blades, these butchers scorn the sacred laws—
Cain’s curse carries. He’s a sacrificial pawn, like this.
 
Scrawny drummer boy, David, you wield your sling;
born into Bedlam, who taught you to brawn like this?
 
Cartographers conspire with their divide and rulers—
pysch! Picot’s lines were drawn and redrawn like this.
 
Do you remember Mukhayriq? Baghdad’s bazaars?
It was never—no, I could have sworn—like this.
 
When Moses raised his staff for the righteous—
the Red Sea split, washing away Fir’aun like this.
 
Sink into silence, bandage egos, nurse moral wounds;
The eggheads crack omelettes and you yawn like this.
 
The world’s wounds fester, yet you scroll, unscathed—
Retweet! Resistance has been reduced to a form like this.
 
Aflatoon says: Do something, brother! Whatever you do
Do it quick! Mothers were not meant to mourn like this.
 

—from Poets Respond

__________

Bilal Moin (Aflatoon): “This poem is dedicated to nine-year-old Khaled Joudeh. While he slept, an Israeli airstrike claimed the lives of his mother, father, older brother, baby sister, and 60 other members of his family. Miraculously, Khaled and his seven-year-old brother, Tamer, survived the initial attack. But their brief and terror-filled lives came to a tragic end when another airstrike struck the very home where they sought refuge, killing them both. This ghazal honors Khaled and the 16,000 children whose childhoods were curtailed by the war in Gaza. Can we do more than just pray, pledge, and write poetry?” (web)

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