Aleppo Mon Amour

 

a flickering festoon of broken bulbs

and shabby bunting adorns the souk

like bridal jewellery

 

amid water hissing and electric crackling  

a subtle whisper may be heard,

 

‘shahid… shahid… shahid… shahid’

 

the blackout silence is

rent by a wailing mother  

caressing brick-dust from the faces

of her husband, father, new born child

picked from the rubble where they once lived

 

‘shahid… shahid… shahid’

 

a husband’s wife,

their son at her breast,

lies slain by sudden

phosphorous rain

 

‘shahid… shahid’

 

a crater in Tilel Street

replenished by a ruptured main

becomes a play pool

where child survivors

splash themselves cool

against the heat of the heat

 

some shoot marbles

at spent bullet skittles

 

hymns and supplications

ascending to paradise 

offer scant protection  

from the onslaught of mortars

returning marble pavements,

mosques, cafes, hamams, 

to common dust

 

a child is asked her dream of freedom

she does not know what freedom means

but hopes it's something beautiful

 

another wants her father back

she flutters an arm,

 ‘he’s gone... away...’

 

she wants to hug him

but he has died,

her face twitches,

she has forgotten how to cry

 

a child’s dress dangles

from a branch

where doves once cooed

 

a street dog gnaws a thigh bone

 

a stooped man collects oranges

from a courtyard tree -  

his bag full, he moves on

stepping round bomb-shard shrapnel

and a blood soaked

toddler’s outdoor shoe

 

‘shahid’

 

                                postscript:

 

Michel

 

tends to the needs of the senile residents

of the Mar Elias home for the elderly -  

the self-appointed cleaner, head cook, nurse

 

Michel is only fifty-three

but has seen too much,

through smoking and sickness

he looks much older

 

he will not make fifty-four

 

‘martyr’