Israel bombed yet another city to pieces
So I stand at the bus stop
And try to memorise my neighbourhood
What is the exact shape of the balconies?
Which ones have plants, which ones are barren
Which windows have cats peeking out into the world
Which one has the old lady, eyes closed, face towards the afternoon sun
What are the faces of the pharmacist, the florist, the fishmonger
And could I recognise them in the rubble?
What are the sounds like around me
Their pitch, their volume, their hidden rhythms
Would I hear them in the silence after the bombs?
Would my skin get goosebumps at their absence?
Would I feel, like a phantom limb, all of this around me
Even if it has long since turned to dust?
- thoughts from a bus stop in 2026
















