I only saw two dead children yesterday I only saw the one-year-old brains of Siwar Abu Daraz her torn skull missing ear I only saw her mouth still and open blood anointing her sweet limbs I never saw her mother killed in their tent by Israeli bombs alongside her daughter I never learned the name of the second dead child I saw I don’t remember him so vividly I just remember the blood and that he was older and that his eyes were open and lacking light There are people shot, or blasted, or starved or burned dead that live with me in the close by rooms of memory So many others I have forgotten or seem to have forgotten I don’t know Already today, I’ve seen lacerated limbs and funerals and a hungry child convulsing Are the ones I’ve forgotten making way for these, inexorably day-by-day? Or do they pile together in the bodies, hearts, and minds of the not-yet-dead erupting in poems from our mountain of memories to join with the ashes of Gaza circling our home? Today I heard another poem about the murder of Siwar Abu Daraz. It arrived when I had almost decided not to write this poem down. Now I send thanks to her for reminding me to share our beauty no matter what is happening This is what we came for
with infinite love, Shambhavi
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