The sharp green bristles of the oldest pine tree

Shudder to remove the ashes of its burning branches,

Branches where I used to hide from the summer heat

And from the calls of my cousins as we played hide and seek.

Clouds of grey smoke spread above the rich mountains of the South

Mountains where I used to watch pink sunrises from the safety of

Blankets on my bedroom balcony long after my parents fell asleep.

Waves of cold water sink with the debris of fallen homes

Waters where I used to swim to dream about the faraway shores of Cyprus

And compete in sandcastles that drift away in the softest smiles of the sea.

The gravestones of my father and forefathers shake

With the thunderous destruction befalling their lands

Lands heavy with the memories of delicate jasmines and olive trees

Families abandoned on highways in storms of grief

As they watch the lives they have built and carried across generations

Explode into particles of dust across screens of the world.

Our tears of rage consume us as we pray for a day

A day that ends our devastating heartache

That has become a painful thread in the necklace of our lives

Whereever we go and in whatever land we reside.