The night before Friday 13th 2015 I could not sleep, then, all day long I was gripped by vague apprehensions, until I caught the news, late that night, about yet another atrocity devised to feed animosity rather than dialogue, this time in Paris.
I searched for comments that made sense, and formulated plenty of analytical thoughts, until I found a poem (below) by Warsan Shire, which expresses accurately how I feel, in sympathy with all bereaved, not just in Paris, but in many places across the world, and all who have cracks in their hearts to share the hurt, and that’s enough. Thank you Warsan.
… later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
where does it hurt?