A Simple Requiem For Gaza

You know
I suppose
That I write

It’s something that I do

Because I believe in you
Because I believe
You’re tired

Because I believe
You’re sad

Because I believe
You’re hella mad

I believe these things
Because I’m human
In an inhuman place

Where race
Still hates race

Where country
Still bombs country

And where the rich
Carefully farm the souls of the poor

Listen up my children!

I’m a writer
I’m a fool

I send unarmed doves
By the battalion
Into the arms of ghouls

I curse the generals
I curse the chiefs
I curse the spies
I curse the metal

I curse the bombs

I am a fool who writes
For children’s eyes
For bluest skies

I am a fool. Yes.

But the word is my only gun
In this bloody mess

It won’t stop you crying I know

O little one

It won’t clothe, feed, or warm you
But know this

These words truly do love you

Underneath the rubble
Inside the dark hospital
Near the unmarked grave of your mother

Please know this

These words love you

And although they were written
By a weak man
In an evil time

They were born in a heart
That constantly wept

For the pure
For the good
For the innocent dead

Just a poor writer you know

Please then take my simple words

To be the flesh of your flesh

To be that lonely blessing so wanting to be said

Dan Corjescu teaches at the University of Tübingen's "Studium Professionale" program. Read other articles by Dan.