A day in the streets of the strip.
a few hours after noon
after the peak of the heat
the soldiers rise from their lunch and back to work
Dozy from the lunchtime sun
and weary from a week's comflict
the half arsed soldier that runs a big gun
picks up a shells to a subtle
sfft, tap
as the heavy metal is picked from concrete.
He loads another. The
sfft, tap
sound recapitulates in the same pitch.
The company is trained in precision
in rhythm
they're there to make their presence known.
And so at half two,
The artilliary layed down a phat
boom-boom-boom-boom
For the next block to hear
Brothers in arms pick up the theme
and the descant RPG's
zoom... zooom
AK rounds ping from armour plating
ting-ting-te-te-t'ting... ting-ting-te-te-t'ting
The noise crescendoes
The beat stays strong
Maybe the deep rhythmic bombs
are about to syncopate?
But back in line they fall
a steady
BOOM, boom, BOOM, boom
underpins the carnival...
Soldiers poke their heads above the sand bags
A timid jerk of the shoulder from an Arab corporal
watched by the Israelie sniper across the street
in perfect time to the rhythm of the beat
as if the booms themselves are pulling on him
The adhān bellows
And the chorus begins
The Israelie sniper siezes the beat
and body pops out of hiding
doing the side-shuffle to the middle of the street
vulnerable to a hundred sights
emboldened by the music
vulterable only to it, now.
And the BOOM-boom-BOOM-boom persists
The soprano ting-te-t'tings draw the hardest combetant from hiding
The adhān goes on
Helmets come off
Chests are liberated from kevlar
Even the velcro betrays the beat
Scchcchcchcchhhh! Scchcchcchcchhhh!
Go the straps.
The street is alive and resounding in the rhythm
Two factions of uniform
once designed for distinction
now decorate the street in colour
Green never looked so alive.
Pulsing to one tune
one accord
an army transcending war
serving only the moment
where
Disengaged suiside bombers
click-de-clack, click-de-clack
their detonators like maraccas
their bulky vests mere fireworks
held together with duct tape
as if the idea of celebration itself
were cuddling them
The batallion in the next block need to reload
And the boom-boom-boom-boom stops
And it's like
all the bass is taken out
and all that's left is highs
but the trebble hasn't noticed
and you hear the echo
of the angel ting-ting-t'tings
the Muezzin cries on
as if either feeding on
(or making up for)
the lack of bass
he screams, he sings, he pleads
Aaiiyaaaaiiyaaaiyaaaa..
And it feels like all of Gaza responds
And in that moment
The whole town is his mosque
The city a synagogue
And neither either
Favours or embitters the citizens
But ask only that they
Eat and drink from the same beat.
He reaches his last cadence
the new type of suspense in the air
builds up
and is immediately appeased
when the resounding
reverberating
bone shaking
BOOM-boom-BOOM-boom
re-joins the scene!
And the assembled cheer
as if their world depended on the beat
and if just for a tiny moment
If only for that minuscule window of time
the idea crosses their mind
that the heartbeat binding them together at that moment,
is stronger than the discourse that ever drove them apart.
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