He is gone, forever,
and ever the dim day breaks
and ever the day miscarries.
Bang your head upon the wall,
kick and shout and rage,
scream, weep tears, and pray,
fly out in fury, revolt,
surrender, withdraw,
lie down like a stone.
It will not go away.
Nothing changes.
Nothing changes,
though the stripped rim of the heart break
and the see-saw prattle and clack
of the barefoot dead
scold, cast blame, accuse --
Oh, my God, it's time for bed again,
my God, it's time for bed.
* lullaby
(From: In Willy's House -- For: the children of the bombing at Qana,2006)
2 comments:
Applause! Wonderfully done. I can feel more and more people rising and speaking out; no longer being afraid - and it gives me hope.
Very intense. The picture shocks and the poem makes the children real.
Post a Comment