Aleppo.

My mother is a history teacher,
and I was a sixth grader when
she first told me about the World Wars.
Now, as a twelve year old,
blissfully unaware of the crises of the world,
this was a revelation because

I could not understand, however hard I tried,
how anyone could watch and simply see people
killing other people.

Six years later,
desensitized to terrorism
and having learnt the ways of the world,
I realize how wrong I was,
believing that I would never ever be
one of those who could stand see war
tear apart countries.

I have been witnessing a genocide
in Syria for most of my adult life,
and reading the final goodbyes of people
in Aleppo over Twitter today,
never have I been more ashamed
of my own existence.

The Starry Night

“Through the iron barred window, I can see an enclosed square of wheat… above which, in the morning, I watch the sun rise in all its glory,” – Van Gogh, in a letter to his brother. 

The condescending darkness
echoes through the cosmos
the descending doom,
the sky sways with the wind
the lit sky numbs progressively
the candle flickers dangerously
the wheat winnows itself
the bars of my windows break free.

I sit over the crescent moon
and watch the world burn
and watch the sun rise
and I burn as the sun
fills me with light
like the lit up sky,
the stars eddying
hypnotize mankind
will them all to hope
as hope is in the stars
and the planet is a star
ignited with souls like me
and today, I paint just for me.