Gaza

Listen, brother, I have a story

That you might want to hear.

Shall we sit down a moment? That stone will do

As a seat. It will have to do.

Forgive me, I have no chairs to offer you

Brother, but that stone you’re sitting on

Was once a wall of mine,

On which my daughter hung posters

Of Turkish pop stars

Those posters irritated her mother

Like the jeans and sleeveless tops she wore.

Now, it’s of more use, perhaps –

As a buffer against the ground beneath

Muddy with the blood

Of those who have gone.

Look here, past my pointing arm

There, I used to sit of evenings

And talk to my neighbours. Their children played

Football on the beach.

Now they play nothing anymore.

One night, I sat there

Looking up at the stars

And my son sat beside me. I told him

Of galaxies and quasars

Of black holes beyond the reach of time and space.

My son asked me, then

Whether one could fly up into the sky

And reach the stars, and there to be free.

My daughter came up behind us

And told him he could go

She would remain to be with me.

I wish you could have met my daughter, brother

She had a smile like the sun,

And wanted to be a doctor. But she’s gone.

My son is gone.

Only the stones remain.

And I

Waiting to speak a word

To someone who passes by.

Tell our story to the world, brother

Tomorrow I will not be here

And the tanks will crush these stones

Under their iron treads.

When you leave this all behind you, brother

Tell the world of my son, my daughter.

Do not let our stories

Wither and die.

Copyright B Purkayastha 2014

Photo by Antonio Olmos