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Dreaming of Rubble and Rivers and Seas`

-Kotla Mubarakpur, November, 2023

I won’t comment on the moon,  
or the way the chemist shops
were bathed in neon light–

forget the smoke and dust,
forget the swerving bikes–
you took my hand that night.

Today I woke at dawn,
choking back a sob,
you looked at me, worried.

I told you, I was fine
but did not tell you this:
I’d dreamt I’d been buried–

and yes, it’s true, I’m fine–
I can stand and breathe,
but also, I can see–

buried friends will haunt
all our dreams until 
Palestine is free.
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