Syrian night

I visited a Syrian village in the night
Mothers in black fading burqas, clutching on to impatient children,
Cats and small boys scrambling for leftovers  carelessly thrown in the trash.

I saw a Syrian girl that night, hawking wipes in a busy night,
Maybe a man, will buy her time to leave the cold, hide her shame in lust.

I ate a Syrian meal that night, grilled chicken and yellow rice, with slices of carrot on paper plates, fat stray cats and thin street boys, winked and kicked, licking their upper lips in turns.

I bought a Syrian necklace that night, tungsten mould, from a talkertive boy, whose goods were smuggled in chains.

She passed the salt with grace that night, dirty fingernails on stunted thumbs, that scrapped the trash with hate.

I saw his eyes recoil that night, the sudden explosion of a tyre burst, memories of a past in pain, love that lost in war.

They talked and ate and laughed that night, people on the move, Migrants and thugs, mingle in bands, following the news online.

A home will be rebuilt one night, the cost of blood that will not bring back, the loved ones who demise.

I saw a Syrian village, in a late Cairo night that's cold and dark, the cats and boys regret.

***
28/02/2020

Rosto, Syrian Cafe
Cairo