Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash

In this land

what remains will be gathered —

from those who tore down Grozny

to the guards of Moscow’s slums.

And they will be seduced,

sirens of death

will overwhelm the empire’s sons.

The sky knows them well —

from the nets of their eyes

to the maps of their thumbs,

to the scent of Iscariot’s silver

fermenting in their lungs.

They rain fire

on the wilderness of Damascus,

and they march to Goebbels’ drums.

‘Sit with me,’ she says,

‘When was the last time

you watched your city

baptised by the Huns?’



Omar Imady

Poet / Novelist / Historian / Syrian / American / Exile / Javaphile / Gastronome / Aerophobe