The City of Beautiful Towers;
Our home, a place of peace and love,
And Christian’s yellow star-
a beacon of light
in the shadow of war.
Until the night it changed.
Until the night our harbour lit up like
a firework spectacle of sorrow.
Until the night they burned the Shield of David to the ground.
Now, a new life-
So strict, so filthy.
We live here, no, exist here,
and rot until they come take us away.
I watch my friends turn gaunt and yellow,
And I miss one more every day we stay.
You can smell the anguish in the air,
The fear as fragrant as the flowers of death.
Days bleed to months, months bleed to years.
At night, I used to hear cries, and now it’s only quiet.
But I feel my brothers weep
As I lay down each night-
Their tears almost as haunting as their screams.
Our days are numbered.
I can feel them fading,
As the men with broken crosses are baptized with our blood.
We will waste away on this barren berth
And pray for the light that will not come-
Until the day there is nothing left
And we lay down and die.
From the Fish in the Fishbowl 