Right before eleven o, clock
Under the roof of a poverty stricken house in Kobani
There was a family...mother, father, a child
A few seconds right before eleven o, clock
The mother was rocking the cradle
The child was smiling
The father was listening to a song on a tape recorder
lying down
The clock struck eleven o'clock
The city was a bird, asleep, its neck under its feathers
No cooing pigeons, no chirruping
No murmur
No shrieking
No sound of breathing
No sighing
After eleven o, clock
Only one sound, one loud sound in that city
echoed in the mountains
And in the midst of poison
the boat of life was sailing
only one sound
after eleven o ,clock
the sound of the music tape in the room
playing the songs of rifles and Peshmerga
YOU ARE READING
War
PuisiA book full of poems about war and unity (mainly for the kurds, but it could be classified to be written for other people too.)
