Refugees Who Had Their World Taken Away



a day without bombs,

is good. You can 

leave your apart-

ment, wander thru

small oasis of color

and light. No words,

only the sense of 

loss. No color except 

for an plot of green

and one plum tree,

not turned to drift

wood. One man who

has not left, says you

must live on the lower

floors to try to escape

airstrikes, shells, rockets,

phosphorous bombs, 

cluster bombs. Dreams 

blend with nightmares,

ghosts rise from the ruins.

Stark white bones litter

the streets. No more 

dancing, no more violins.

No flamingos or pelicans.

Terror blooms under a

blue moon. When a small

bomb lands on top of 

a building, it often takes out

just the top 2 or 3 stories.

Lately Basha al-Assad and

the Russian military have

been using a new kind of

bomb that demolishes the

whole building. People 

stay out of any rooms near

the street. There’s no electricity.

Families rarely leave the apart-

ment, prefer to die together



 photo 621968546.jpg




this small oasis of color and life

as cluster bombs, barrel

bombs, missiles rain on houses,

hospitals, schools in this 

hazardous, unpredictable place,

a gardener was able to grow

flowers, vegetables, broad

leaved plants. Roses, gardenias,

bougainvillea. The gardener’s

whole existence dedicated 

to the beauty of life, a small

courageous attempt to promote

peace. Dust and smoke blur 

the stars, the watered ferns and

lilies in the shadows. Shivering

thru the raids, dreaming of 

his dead wife until eventually a

barrel bomb lands near his

garden, kills him, his dream that

the “essence of the world is a

flower,” the color, smell, how it

can inspire. But in the time 

since his death, Aleppo seems

mostly defined  by another 

floral attribute: fragility



going crazy photo gty_syria_children_14_jc_160912.jpg


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About Lyn Lifshin

I am addicted to ballet and ballroom-- so its not odd that two recent books are BALLET MADONNAS and out yesterday BALLROOM-- 300pages for only dollars form March St Press I'm a workaholic tring to take a wildly different break maybe Spain, maybe some place in New England where nothing is as you'd suppose more a new coming book ALL THE PEOTS (MOSTLY) WHO HAVE TOUCHED ME,LIVING AND DEAD: ALL TRUE, ESP THE LIES is what I hope people believe of my poems in spite of the blurbs
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