New old poem

[uzilagun]

 
They’re Digging

In rubble and rocks they find

An arm, a book, a scarf, a ring.

In a pyramid of smoke they

Count parts and pieces

A finger, a leg, two toes, a head.

Strap the screamers to gurneys

And continue digging

To the center,

Where there are no bombs

Or terrorists.

Digging until the bones become relics.

When the last bomb dropped,

It left a page

We

Comments

[popover]

Powerful

Thank you!

[uzilagun]

nice of you to say.