Against the Drowning Noise of Other Words, CCLII: "ceasefire" airstrikes
heavenward
rising
fireballs
fireballs
falling
heavenward
Chen-ou Liu
Commentary: This visual haiku utilizes concrete poetry techniques to transform the page into an active canvas of conflict. By breaking away from traditional left-aligned metrics, the stepped indentation forces the reader’s eyes to physically mimic the kinetic arc of warfare.
• The initial staircase step from heavenward to rising creates a literal ascent.
• The staggered drop from fireballs to falling mirrors a terrifying, gravity-driven descent.
By mapping the text to the physical movement of the ordnance, the poem transcends static text, becoming a cinematic vector of a live airstrike.
Grammatically, the piece collapses traditional sentence structure into an innovative, non-linear reading experience. It can be deciphered as a continuous loop:
The observer gazes heavenward at fireballs rising, and fireballs falling back toward earth—only for the gaze to be pulled heavenward once again.
By stripping away articles and connectors, the word heavenward serves a dual purpose: it is both the baseline perspective of the vulnerable witness looking up, and the destination modifier for the rockets launching up.
The most haunting element of this haiku is its structural bookending. Opening and closing with the exact same word—heavenward—creates a cyclical, closed loop.
There is no structural resolution or final resting point for the eye. Instead, the end of the poem immediately feeds back into the beginning.
FYI: My haibun below could be read as its sequel:
To Save a Life
The finale of the Israeli award-winning documentary NAZA, a Hebrew acronym for "collateral damage," captures a father trapped in a furnace of grief. Heat radiates from the tangled grid of collapsed iron and melted plastic. Coughing through blinding smoke, he drags broken blocks of drywall away, his cries echoing off the smoldering rubble that traps his children.
calm between fireballs
an armless girl gazing
heavenward, yet ...
Note: The title invokes Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:1 (22a): “Whoever destroys a soul, itis considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.”
The concluding word " yet ..."opens a painful gap between the ideal and the reality.
If every life is an entire world, yet a child can be left maimed by war, what becomes of that world?
If saving a life is an act of immeasurable significance, yet lives are destroyed amid the rubble, what meaning can we give to that teaching?
If the girl gazes heavenward, yet ..., what can follow? Hope? Prayer? Accusation? Silence?
Furthermore, the ellipsis refuses to answer. It leaves the moral and spiritual contradiction unresolved.
Without it, the haiku ends with “heavenward,” a word that can suggest transcendence, faith, or hope. The image is poignant, but it permits a relatively consoling interpretation.
And
October 7, 2026:
Bearing Witness: Websites Document Gaza's Catastrophe for the Ages
These efforts are laying bare the humanitarian disaster and Israel's suspected war crimes, preserving evidence for courts and 'the day Israeli society has the desire or courage to look in the mirror'
