al-majus

Every night, I hold up my magic mirror.

Show me Gaza,

I whisper into the darkness 

until they appear.

Familiar faces,

I’ve seen them now for over a year.

Some smile, some plead, some weep,

some hold up their children in despair.

“Don’t skip”

“I know you are tired of us”

“We know you are good”

“We know you care”

Good?

Perhaps we are.

Some of us. 

Sometimes.

Between our overpriced coffees

and our mountains of fear.

And our sick mothers

and our absent husbands

and the bill gathering dust on the stair.

We snap at our children,

grind our teeth at the office,

and send angry messages to old friends

who had plenty of time

and plenty of tears

for Old Holocausts;

but find a hundred reasons to turn their face here.

Do I walk on higher ground?

Because I sign the odd petition?

And send five dollars here and there?

Watching, waiting

A voyeur in a velvet chair.

Watching, waiting

For what? For whom to appear?

Watching, waiting

as they wither and wane

and one by one

like stars at sunrise,

drop their long lashes

and disappear

written by Alaleh Mohajerani

first published on TikTok in November, 2024