Poems and Reflections Across Language and Lineage

  Europe speaks of peace with clean hands and averted eyes. It applauds ceasefires as if silence were salvation, drafts reconstruction plans as if concrete could cover complicity. But what is peace, when the architecture of oppression remains untouched? What is diplomacy, when it is built atop the bones of the unheard? The European Union performs empathy like theatre—measured, rehearsed, and always at a safe distance. It funds the rebuilding of Gaza with one hand while selling arms with the other. It speaks of humanitarian aid, yet refuses to name the systems that perpetuate the need for it. This is not neutrality. This is cowardice dressed in protocol. Gaza is not a policy problem. It is a wound. A wound reopened by every drone strike, every veto, every silence. And Europe—descendant of empires, architect of borders—cannot pretend to be a bystander. Its fingerprints are on the rubble. You call for a two-state solution, but where was your voice when settlements spread like a slo...

Everybody's grumpy. Everybody's unfriendly. Station after station, Stop after stop. Then my sunshine boards. A couple of times a week, For a couple of stops, I dare to dream We get off at the same stop. We walk into the sunshine. You have a smoke. I walk behind you. We walk to our jobs. You look at me, I look at you. We look away. Life is about could have beens. Your wedding ring sparkles, I'm not free either And still.. You're my sunshine