Poem: This World Can’t Home.

This World Can’t Home.

Part 1 The Interview

What did you tell them?  

I told them that in Douma, underground, the doctors have turned emergency rooms into prayer rooms.

Mid surgery whispering; please don't bomb us.

Part 2 The Birthday

I didn’t forget the cake, just the candle.

It doesn’t matter, because now I’m in Berlin.  

I could be in East Ghouta under barrel bombs like everyone else. 

Part 3 Amore

His name is Moussa, he calls himself Mo.  

We don’t watch the news. 

He sends me messages like:

“dont forget milk”

“sorry i didn’t mean what i said” and

“Are you ok?” 

Part 4 Are you Ok?

Are you ok in our breaking news capitals of broken dreams and broken hearts?

Are you ok in Bethlehem with settlers burning children in their beds?

Are you ok in the queue there waiting for someone to dress your wounds with assistance criteria.

Go home. 

I can’t. 

Sleep on the streets, welcome to Europe. 

Nowhere refuge, only refugees.

Part 5 Anniversary

I draw a big circle around our bed with a pencil. 

The only terrorist is the terrorist of ice cream.

Diaspora, in your arms mon amour.  

This world, can't home.