A female Lyft driver navigates the night shift in NYC while waiting to hear life or death news from Syria.
Here is a rock and two eyes
Here is a moon, there is a goose
And still there are more things I could not see
But love letters become time bombs…
Where should I begin?
You said: start from the alphabet’s massacre!
We are running out of coffins.
The city burns, street by street—
even the stones are catching fire.
Our last pediatrician has been killed.
Depressed and open like the sea, I stand, angry, coherent and continuous, to tell you about the sea, when the window has two eyes to see my despair, the walls … Continue reading