From the Sky

When I die,

bury me in the sky—

no one is fighting over it.

Children are playing soccer

with empty bomb shells

(from the sky I can see them).

A grandmother is baking

her Eid makroota and mamoul

(from the sky I can taste them).

Teens are writing love letters

under an orange tree

(from the sky I can read them).

Soldiers are cocking new rifles

at the checkpoint

(from the sky I can hear them).

Under fire, death and water

are brewing in the kitchen

(from the sky I can smell them!).

When I die, bury me in the sky,

I said, for now, it is quiet—

no one owns it and no one is claiming to.