At Customs
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OR or Oliver Tambo is Johannesburg's airport. Damascus is everywhere.
At Customs
Delayed fatigued grumpy and miserable there was I
yet another queue at Oliver Tambo on arrival another
Check scan body search and
mind games in my baggage
Damascus had been an unusual holiday destination
had firmly attached a couple of splinters just a bit of
Shrapnel trauma displacement
on the movie of my soul
Amena breathing the rubble with one foot detached
collateral damage digitalised toes in my camera
Home still smouldering siblings
Riham and Yaman with Allah now
Sayid coughs up the message of
how the planes came planes came
again and again planes came planes
then mother and father had vanished
Assel unable to talk it is difficult to
speak without jaw when brain leaks
upper jaw lower jaw who
cares who minds the statistic
So many images am I importing the
injustice depravation guilt shame
‘Not in my name’ nameless no
frame in the hierarchy of evil
Destruction of a sovereign nation and
the king makers in the global North West
export and import in trauma and transit
memories narrative existential angst
In the queue at the airport OR Tambo
and the tambourine major plays human
beings sacrificed on the altar of a simple
custom of exporting terror and malice
I am importing so much on my return
from Damascus yet choose the line
‘Nothing to declare’ but sorry I cannot do this
there is no time and you don’t want to know
So much pain so much anger on my mind…
but I have too much to declare
Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2017
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