Bubbles

I see through bubbles that are blown everywhere.
Some are protestations of undying love,
others, a screen 
between the public and their leaders.

Some journey towards afflicted regions,
but burst before they reach their destinations.

Some are a kaleidoscope 
of a happy childhood,
which is no longer available.

Some evoke an ocean 
that is now at enmity
with its immediate neighbors.

Some are a display of historic arrogance
that will be the plight 
of every nation.

Some are at variance
with their own ingredients,
so turn against themselves
in a hysteric self-annihilation.

Some perform the Danse Macabre
and foretell the transience of the human species.

 
An Eye Contact

Two hours after midnight,
a pair of fluttering stars
that steadily looks me in the eye,
shortsighted as I am,
has finally established an eye contact.

The thread of light that now ties
my irises to their flickering white
is my daily exit from Hades.

I do not need to climb a ladder to reach the skies
or to fly an extraterrestrial spacecraft,
I mount my own eyesight.
 
I was born into so many wars

I was born into so many wars, I pause
with shortness of breath
that has nothing to do with respiratory throes,
but with Fear
that was injected into my system 
during my earliest years.

I was only four when the 1967-war
violently shook my cardiac chords.
Lightning and thunder became a metaphor
for the fireworks
of Israeli bombardments of land and ports.

Then came the 1973-raids
on the harbor which was only yards away
from our street which filled with tanks, 
military trucks, 
and soldiers with helmets.
Shell-shocked, I was launched into my teens.

Before I became eighteen,
a civil war bequeathed numerous assassinations
and odd forms of sectarianisms.

2011 was the ominous date,
heralding rockets,
displacement,
and an everlasting siege
that brought inflation and darkness in its wake.

And now I am sixty years of age.
I find myself in the grip of a War 
that has shattered my dreams
of a long-lasting peace.


 
The Massacre of Penguin Chicks

I was in Sydney in the early nineteen-nineties 
when I first heard of people who endanger their lives, 
clinging to the masts of massive ships, 
to hinder the pollution of soil, air, and seas. 

Those activists are trouble-makers 
in the eyes of legislators, 
merely for attempting to save our planet 
and its endangered species. 

With my TV screen recently gone out, 
having been electrocuted by a surcharge of electricity, 
I now read the news instead of watching it, 
which spares me a lot of psychological harm 
and lingering grief. 

These recent events sound apocalyptic 
but not Biblical to me; 
however, our globe is being destroyed 
with Luciferian zeal. 
Emperor penguin chicks are the latest martyrs. 
In thousands, they have drowned 
or frozen to death 
because the sea-ice melted beneath them 
before they could develop the waterproof feathers
which would enable them to swim. 
The executioner is global warming. 
 
Millions of people have been dying in stoppable wars 
and nobody gives a damn, 
so who would care about the demise of penguin chicks?  

I once heard a conspiracy theorist speak of preparations, 
to inhabit another space, 
once planet earth has ceased to exist. 
Such a flight to a new paradise must cost billions, 
but should I get it free -
please excuse such a daydream - 
I would not want to board one of their spaceships, 
because the journey would nauseate me. 
I would rather perish here.