Sipping coffee in the green
light of a bloodbath,
pulled back to the dusty rim
of our own churned chaos,
while the fists of our betrayal
punch as puffs of black
abandon rise in the desert.
This then, is the sum of us.
This then, is our own true nature.
This then, is the gist of us, our giving ways –
The gift –
Tossed as cans into a bonfire,
brown lives too brown
for a living, for a land,
for a white and greedy hand
to hold as brethren.
This then, is the sum of us: silence,
as to our deaf plugged ears comes
a cry from the crushed olive groves
of Al Hasakah – Te çima min ji min re hişt.
This then, is the sum of our shame.
This then, is our own true nature –
to heap upon the burn pits
the used, the brown, the bruised
olives that fell upon the ground,
trampled in our absence.
Image: Military Times