Trespassers, straying in your walls, we spot
your hidden guard perched in his sentry box.
The lizard keeps his watch o’er Kayaköy,
beneath the spotlight of the bleaching sun.

What is it he protects? The crumbling walls
of empty homes abandoned long ago?
They’re just imperfect fossils, partial shells
picked clean, relics with nothing left to steal.

Perhaps this patient watchman wastes his time?
Maybe. Unless. Have we misread the scene?
Perhaps he guards not there from us but us
from ghosts superimposed upon these bricks:

ghosts, answering the church bells’ Sunday call,
bent over roasting stoves preparing lunch,
selecting apricots from market stalls,
and playing in the streets with shrieks of joy.

These streets witnessed entire lives played out:
first steps, first loves, first jobs, first homes, first child,
grey hairs and wrinkles, growing old, last breaths.
These silent streets still sound their passing sighs.

Until abruptly change came with a dictate
that ripped them, tore them, leaving their shades behind
echoes of families exiled without choice.
A way of life abandoned, torn, replanted.

These ossuaries remain, witnessing to
the cost that’s always paid in conflict by
the innocent. By those caught up without a voice
or choice. Their ghosts cry out in pain and warning.

In our recent trip to Ölüdeniz in Turkey, we hiked through the wood by our resort to Kayaköy, a ‘ghost town’ resulting from the Treaty of Lausanne which brought to an end the Greco-Turkish War of 1919–1922. In it was a protocol for a population exchange between the two countries (see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kayak%C3%B6y). Visiting the town was an eerie experience. It was a very still and empty place, but at the same time, in the corner of your eye you could almost see its former inhabitants living out their daily lives. And yes, there was a lizard. I do not know enough about either conflict to judge the rights and wrongs of events, but I can’t help but find myself making links between the past, there, and events in Gaza today.
(13.11.23)

© Ben Quant 2023