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Matkhafsh

As your little hands grasp for comfort recognisable

After the world of rubble you were ripped from,

The smooth plastic mask fails to hold still in your shaky palms

Try and concentrate on your breath.

A greedy lens pokes into the corner of your eye

Have you even noticed the journalist to your left?

It’s me, on the other end of the wire

Matkhafsh

When I was small like you

And my mother was alive

All I needed were those words,

Matkhafsh

By sheen, my fear had almost vanished.

I wish I could pull you to my breast like she did

And protect you from feeling alone as you are surrounded

By other bleeding men

Who the doctors run to instead of you

Matkhafsh

You could have been me, and I you

Both totally powerless to end this chaos

But we shout and fight in our own way

To remind people that you exist

I hope to meet you one day on the plains of Europe

Or maybe in your Damascene garden

With a fountain and the sweet smell of jasmine filling the air

Until then

Matkhafsh.

 

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