After Bashar al-Assad’s bomb had shattered his apartment
the old man slowly took his tobacco pouch
from the right-hand jacket pocket
filled his pipe
and lit it
as he drew the warm smoke into his lungs
it anaesthetised his pain
he blew the dust from the battered gramophone
placed the Mohamed Diya' al-Din vinyl on the turntable
and cranked the handle
as the song filled the broken room
a peace descended that he could not fathom
the children in the street below
heard the sound
melancholy yet full of hope
for the old man in the upstairs apartment
was playing his favourite music once again
and nothing had changed
This composition is published as part of our Refugee: Poems of Courage collection, presented in collaboration with Poems Not Bombs, part of the Forest Poets collective.
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