Isolating Ourselves

by Tala Albanna
11.25.2025

In the front seat of a bus

Heading to another so-called green area

Silence and deep thoughts

Arise, as a breath

Emerges from the gravity of an ocean 

Ghosts and other remnants 

Peer into the burnt,

Deadly, 

Knocked-down buildings

That stay to guard the children 

Missed beneath the rubble

The whiteness of tents 

Settle over

Devastated lands 

Gradually replacing

The outlines of houses. 

Round shoulders and dusty faces are a new feature 

On helpless men

Dead olive trees, 

The nonhuman inhabitants,

Choose to resist

By their oil and fruits 

Concrete pillars hold their places 

To let the lotus grow tall

But others can not 

They fall down, waiting for a hand 

And a place where virtue 

Prevails 

For forty long minutes, her eyes are alight with teardrops,

Her cheeks flush with blood. 

Her son bellows 

She is ALIVE 

DON’T look at me!

Save her!

He doesn’t realize

They have already put her in a morgue.