Mosul

it would be dark
here in the middle of the night
billowy clouds waving
crystal stars in a crystal sky
the way it should be over this desert
if all of the clouds hadn't now become smoke
lighting up with the flames
greedily igniting
the sacred past of all those who dwell here meekly
turning the land where silence reigned momentarily
into a convenient graveyard
and the people
furious with the roll of the dice that fate has dealt them
cling to what little hope they have left
like they cling to each other when the bombs come

            sand storms are far more welcome here than
                         these hundred pound killers made of gunpowder and malice
                                    lurking beneath our streets
                                               monsters waiting to be unleashed

every day a choice must be made
either die of starvation at home because you
will not leave your house
or become a victim of the underground monsters
whose echoing roars still scorch the distance
as another suicide waits to feel
the kiss of a savior on his lips at the gates of paradise
they know they're going to heaven
because this place
must be hell
and now the radicals are here searching through the rubble
through their stockpiles for another weapon
for another tool of which to proclaim god's greatness
don't they know
the strongest and most piercing weapon of all
is the cry of the poor man rummaging through the waste
that was once his humble house
finding pieces of his life before hatred destroyed it
and shattered everything within its path
at last finding himself
in utter misery and solitude
as the bringers of death parade through the streets
in a show of hollow victory saying:

            all glory be to god
                       god is great
                                    there is no god but god
                                                     allahu akbar

and momentarily stopping from collecting the fragments of his life
strewn everywhere
the poor man looks up through watery eyes, trembling      
he screams out to them
in his fury

           why did you do this
                                    why did you have to do this

receiving no answer except for indecipherable shouts
and so turning to the heavens
of smoke and sulfur
asking his god:

            why did they take them
                       why did you
                                    let them take him
                                               let them take her from me

and the pretend victors, untrue bringers of justice stand there on the streets
wanting to take more lives for their cause
and watch the fire consume the ruins
as their celebrations continue
proclaiming success and a divine mandate
and the battle that must be waged against infidels, the inferiors
the war that must be fought until the gates of heaven are opened
as if the crying man
covered in the blood of his family
holding his dead son
in his broken arms
was still the enemy