At night, Aleppo is buzzing
With mosquito flutter, drones on auto-pilot
And war planes under human control
Shells falling from the sky.
And a little boy in a shelter
Looks through a crack in the window
To see a shell falling from the top.
And death was at first a dot, a blip
That fell to gravity’s furor
Becoming bulkier in an instant
Until one boy was pulverized to dust.
No squeal, no cries of anguish,
Just a perfect silence after the storm.
In that pool of blood and debris
There were no mosquitos or drones,
Just the buzz of angels fluttering their wings.
The angel of death, clearing the clutter,
Of the angel of destruction
To ferry a little angel
Who could never grow up
To clip his wings