the Mosque wall

in Kashmir

a thoughtful Indian picked up a hefty rock

while i stayed on the sofa 

playing with his Pakistani woman,

but only in my dreams.

it often seems

there's a lingering dawn

before the fateful rising sun:

the actual sound ringing in my ear

is of a car explosion!

i see people

running past the Mosque wall,

many bleeding upright while others crawl.

this is definitely not a dream,

it would seem,

as i see soldiers with the Star of David,

hear them shouting commands

above the clamor and the swirling dust.

i must

remember how this unfolds in reality time

so i might use my rhyme

to describe the madness and the genocide.

there is no where to hide,

the innocence.

i must

remember to heat water for another cup of tea,

watching civilization flee.

on my tv

there's currently a bulletin coming from the Red Sea

about a missile strike on a Panamanian-flagged oil tanker

and another drone shot down,

having been launched from an historic Yemeni town

now curiously devoid of hungry tourists.

thousands of actors are rehearsing their lines

but no one is paying their fines:

it's overdue, the settlement cost.

much is lost!

during an intermission,

i must

remember the thuggish warlords

and the frightened underdogs,

both eating everything they can dig their teeth into,

as they drink

and sink

like hard noodles into their own fragrant broth.