Here

HERE


Here a house, a gate, a pitcher, a well, a fruit tree, a window…here.
Here olives and figs, apples and mint, pomegranates…sweetness.
Here markets and shops and schools… Idlib, Homs, Aleppo. Here.

Here bullets, here shrapnel and glass, here twisted metal …our bodies.
Here Ghada, here Youssef, here Samar… lie down beside me.
Here Shiite and Sunni, Alawite, Kurd, Christian, Druze… children.

Here hunger, here thirst, here dirt…we smell of our fear.
Here we walk, here we fall and walk again… we are not here.
Here fences , eyes, checks and questions…how can we face them?

Here hope, here dreams that we may be welcome….if we reach there.
Here sun, here morning, here birds that chatter…are we here?
Here what was once, what was ours…here a place like our own?

Here a bed, here a pillow… autumn leaves not seen before.
Here our songs, our poems, our prayers…here our sisters and brothers.
Here our love, our thanks, please forgive us, lie down here with us.

Steve Bucknell. 12.11.15.