Roses For Gaza
Gaza is a garden full of roses.
Stone roses.
Rock roses.
No petals to crush and bruise
to release their fragrance.
Only dust.
Dust and the stench
of death.
No green space left.
No sweet tranquility,
peace or quiet.
No escape
in this world
of politicians
unable
to cast the first stone
in this world
of double standards
in this world
of politicians
with hearts of stone
in this world
where humanity
is reduced
to rubble and rock roses.
A World Of Stones
They told me a stone would never float.
I didn’t believe them
so I threw it carefully on to the water.
It stayed there
on the surface,
a miracle!
So I threw another carefully to land on top
and then another
and another.
Now a stack of stones was floating
on the water.
They told me a stone would never hang in the air.
I didn’t believe them
so I threw it carefully upwards.
It stayed there
in the air,
a miracle!
So I threw another to land underneath
and then another
and another.
Now a stack of stones was hanging
in the air
casting its shadow on the water.
Believe in the miracles you can make.
Don’t believe what they tell you.
Make the impossible possible
in a world of stones.
Stoned
A lesser man would be turned to stone
by such a look,
disparaging
dismissive,
certainly worthy of a Gorgon,
but I survived it
with my family,
though I still look uneasily
at the ubiquitous stone statues
of all those people once alive
who now adorn the streets
and crowd the museums
in so many places in the world.
Was it the skill of the unknown carvers,
or was it just a look that did the trick?
I wonder how long my protection will last,
I’ll never know for sure.
No comments:
Post a Comment