Against Despair
- 18 hours ago
- 1 min read
/ Poetry /
Today, hunched under bomb burst in Rafah, three men—
bloodied, powdered by dust—scramble from their cracked
shelter to the new crater, its fatal blaze, its blasted concrete
walls. Despite danger. Their bare hands tear at the debris,
red wrack-line of war: to dig out someone, anyone,
who might survive. Today it is a family half-buried
beneath broken slabs. Ignoring mortar flare, they lever
out the father, his trapped chest, ravaged body. Kneel
to shift the unshiftable blocks, to free the infant daughter
from wreckage. Despite explosives that shred ground
yards from where they work. They excavate the breathing
baby, run her to shelter. I’m wrung raw by how the three
men keep hurtling their bodies toward catastrophe—
to extricate, to carry the wounded. Stunned by their fierce
intent against oblivion. To dig—again. Even as their own
families may still be trapped. Despite. May they survive.
May their names be sung from each remaining roof.
