pomegranate winter pomegranate spring

a poem for Palestine from Greece, and from me to you

the other day, my words were twisted around my neck until i was choking on things i did not say

and though it's not quite hell on Earth, i recognize that to the gods i must be dirt

something buried others step on, on their way to success, i am not quite human to the rest

and whenever i feel this wound rising, my eyes only hold tears in them for seconds before i start smiling

there's nothing to be upset about if feeling, resisting, is futile, this is what it looks like for me to have lost the fight

on pomegranates, olives, desert air, scarred screaming, children's laughter, all the things we share, i swear,

even if i have been forced to give up on myself, and so my pain is never truly felt, i will never give up on you, for i love you well