O Captains

A piece of flatbread rests on a low table in a small
Dusty house with no chairs, a baby crying, held in one arm of a worrying
Girl crouching at a propane burner, stirring brown broth,
A boy on his knees before the bread, wanting a bit, waiting

And wondering about the others, how many will there be
Now that the blasts are getting closer and black smoke billows
Over his uncle's neighborhood where he's played, sat on laps,
Eaten lamb and rice and laughed with cousins running outside.

It has happened now, it was said to be coming, and the reasons have never congealed
In our scattered thoughts as we fought to get by day by day in the din of the city,
And now we'll need to fight till we die if we even live through the missiles
And bombs getting deafening now, the bread is shaking on the table

In a trembling dance that feels like the fear in my chest, my ribs rattling,
I smell the burning, is it my cousins' arms and legs flaming,
My uncle watching, now raging, now looking for the gun they gave him for this
Moment of utter madness, all meaning destroyed save this chance

To take aim exposed under furious clouds and fire at horrible flashing
Birds come to blast away our whole lives in seconds, screaming the laughter
Of indifferent cruelty, numb to the humble struggle of families huddled
In the crosswinds of whatever shining clashing dreams are evolving

In the swollen minds of clean-shaven captains of destiny who believe
With all their religious hearts beyond the shadows of their doubts
They are each against each other doing the right thing, they must
Fulfill their missions whatever the cost, the bread, the babies, the mothers,

Whatever the number of eyes they can't see, and cries they don't hear, the faces
They melt in the making of their shining dreams come true, of Islam, Democracy,
Christendom, Communism, Free Markets, Liberty, Sovereign Sacred Land,
Human Rights, Capital Gains, National Security,

All this coming in blinding shocks of impossible brightness and rumbling,
The stench of burning flesh, rubber, gas, and the dust of pulverized plaster and clay,
All blackening this day, this harvest of hate, spawn of fear, I am stumbling
Senseless, where is the bread, my sister, O Captains, What have you done?