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By Khalil Simaan
The day will come
Once we could mourn our lifeless.
Grieve our grief. Consolation each other.
And carry the coffin and the flag
In a solemn procession
Wafting like a lightweight cloud
Alongside the bowing palm timber
And the cooing white pigeons.
And nobody will stand in the way in which
Of the lifeless.
Nobody will harass the casket
Nor the lifeless
Nobody will deny the lifeless
Her nightly ritual
She could take off the make-up and the paint
For the final time.
And sooth her painful physique with balm
For the final time.
And comb out her hair
For the final time.
And solely when she is absolutely prepared
She is going to
Leisurely
Gown herself with a nightgown
And lay her fractured head
To relaxation
On an earthly cushion.
And in her thoughts
The slain lamb
She would possibly survey her busy calendar
And weep.
She would possibly overview the occasions
Of her remaining day
And weep.
She would possibly bear in mind the sad faces
Of the devoted, grieving individuals
And weep.
She would possibly merely weep
As a result of
She is given the additional time
To weep.
And, ultimately
When she has consumed the final drop of life
She is going to lastly go to sleep.
For the final time.
(In honor of Palestinian journalist Shereen Abu-Akleh, who was killed by the Israeli military in Could 2022)
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