Nativity in the Rubble
A poem
A poem
I entered the world swaddled in smoke,
my first cries drowned out by sirens’ wail.
Lullabies were keening laments,
drowning pools reflected fire-streaked skies.
Childhood unfolded under battle’s drumbeat,
the steady rhythm of ruin all I knew.
Stray bullets whizzed past our heads
while games of hopscotch traced cratered earth.
Laughter rang dissonant against the echo of ordnance,
this juxtaposition my skewed reality.
I collected shrapnel shards, prizing them like gems,
oblivious to bloodstains on concrete.
My playgrounds were pockmarked facades,
my toys abandoned rifles and spent shells.
I took my first steps through rubble,
learned to run from phantoms.
This baptism by fire birthed a strange faith,
prayers offered to patron saints of rubble children.
We clung together,
tribe of wild things thriving on ashes.
I came of age crouched in trenches,
pinning crude medals on my chest.
My inheritance was trauma’s map etched on my heart.
It was all I knew.
Now I wander exiled from that blasted land,
seeking home in this alien world of placid streets.
But still I wake clutching at phantoms,
dreaming echoes of my nativity.
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