it’s not easy to swallow the sun
on a black day in Baghdad
when “the cost of doing business”
means civilians, perhaps eating supper
or a child adding 2+2 in his homework
get bombed, snuffed out––
just because they “think” weapons
of mass destruction lurk in our backyard.

it’s not easy to swallow the sun
and wish its beams burn through my skin
to heal a nation torn asunder
by a hundred thousand dead
by a war made dirtier by the soiled hands
of imperialists wanting more and more
even as their bowls are full with
the feast of destruction.

it’s not easy to swallow the sun
and warm the corridors of my veins
when they say “it’s now time to turn the page.”
as long as they have that right––
to turn the page or not—
we are pawns at their command
we are spasms in an ailment
we are hostage in our land.