The world is not ending, my friend.
It’s always been falling apart,
To particles
To cleanse ethnicities,
To the battles of flags.
This coffee talk was so needed.
Coffee has the smell of peace,
the taste of love,
and the colour of old blood on dead bodies.
Your smirk speaks of dehumanizing our dead,
blaming them for their placement.
To hell with them, you say.
But who was your grandfather?
Was he truly innocent?
Didn’t you tell me he used to steal?
Was your grandmother a scent?
Didn’t she sell her body to survive?
Where were they buried?
Under a tomb,
Or beneath a destroyed monument?
Humans are meant to end incognito.
War machines are made to destroy,
to bury human bodies,
and freeze that smirk on your face.
But instead,
you stand by the missiles’ operators,
and wave their flag.
The scientist, the children, the lovers,
the prison guards and the prisoners
are buried incognito,
and I choose to mourn for them,
all of them.
The men who flew the planes
dehumanized them,
while you cheered.
He sleeps soundly at night,
So do you, my friend.
You love watching landscape photos,
nature, flowers, and writing retreats.
Sip your coffee, my friend.
Let me show you a photo.
Summer calls us out of hibernation.
Look at them,
the children.
They still play in the Gaza Strip
with starved hollow ribs.
But how do we sleep at night?
The world is not ending, my friend,
It’s always been falling apart.
Don’t you remember Alexander?
Don’t you remember the Mughals?
So many of us were buried incognito,
with forgotten stories.
And then again, you smirk.
The sun is setting on us,
as we part ways.
The world is not ending, my friend,
but a part of me is,
my silence is.
And so is this phony ceasefire.
