From a Tent in Italy- Poem #19

In the camp of dreams he s sitting on his balcony
in Aleppo;
the lights of his city now dimmed
the street blackened and empty

the clatter of crockery indicating life goes on somewhere;
in the dark
a distant rifle shot
a shell preceded by an ominous whistle

for someone is leaving the planet;
a child perhaps, his mother waiting for him
her throat dry, knowing not his fate
perhaps already a shroud.

The old man stares from a tent in Italy
plucking an oud; across the road a bakery
missing the scent of rose water and pistachio
the album of his mind needing revision.

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