TENDER VICTIMS (Children of Gaza Contest)
Dust-covered children,
With tear-streaked faces
And bloodshot eyes.
Orphaned. Abandoned.
Offered no respite--
Empty promises and lies.
Barefoot in rubble,
Tiny hands reaching,
Covered in flies.
Surrounded by debris,
Shattered homes,
With none to hear their cries.
The six o’clock news
Tells their story--
And gets one or two sighs.
‘Twas just yesterday I learned about joy.
You became mine and I became yours –
so happy for a girl instead of boy.
An instant love bonded us to the core.
Seconds, hours, days and years quickly fly.
Crawling and talking, walking and running –
you grew so fast, past hijinks and lies,
into someone so smart and stunning.
Time continues to pass so fast for me.
You became an adult and now mother.
You turned me into a bragging Nonni
with a perfect princess now to nurture.
I watch with amazement; the years go by.
Holding memories, I can only try.
Flies love figs, oaks, elms, and willows; we know.
They play hide-and-seek with leaves tinged with snow.
In their purblind fondness, our hearts get sparked?
Do they flee from us because we're crook-backed?
Around us, wingers of every kind fly.
We often love their melancholic cry.
Isn't each fly as fine as a butterfly?
Shouldn't each be the master of the sky?
The colours and vibes of flies are versatile.
Doesn't their existence, yet, appear futile?
Why should frail flies be weighed down by lures?
Why should life move around ecliptic blurs?
A blackbird flies before the moon,
A life shall pass away;
A death, a bird,
Together stirred,
Fused in a lunar ray;
The wings of a fate falling soon.
Life flies so fast
See you after
Today, next day.
Don't think after
What you do now
Next, don't bother.
Know for today
After, don't mind
Then, is not sure.
Work for today
Steps to goal
A life's merit.
In battle little boys frantic
Shared their quotes with the Atlantic
So we can all note
About death they’d gloat
And Signal decay gigantic
i sat reading a book
pondering on what i could ever possibly do
to make myself feel better
i glance at the clock
it is 2pm on a sullen sunday
i am filled with resentment
resentment towards myself,
towards them
they speak in a low tone
almost as if i cannot hear it,
as if i have to tune in to hear the muttering.
i take a glance into the mirror across from me
i do not recognize this face staring back at me
a bitter taste fills my mouth
what an odd face!
its not mine,
it doesnt feel right on this body.
so whose is it?
I look back at the clock,
it is now 8pm on this dreadful sunday.
where'd the time go?
i try to recall the time
nothing i can recollect in my mind,
i glance around the room.
the furnitures moved
and there happens to be notes left around,
it wasnt me leaving those notes,
they are in a different handwriting.
time flies.
Flies can walk upside down
I am watching one through my glass table
It is weird seeing his tiny feet
He walks with self-assurance
Step step step
No flying for this one
Days pass aloof to all hearts reap,
strays memories we wish to keep.
Ploys of time constantly remold
joys that we wish to ever hold.
While eyes close to deeply reflect,
vile time spies flashbacks to infect.
Should time leave my recall intact -
could be my joy would first react!
cool clear pond
dragonflies buzz above surface
hungry bass eye them
Time flies by at warp speed
and years go swiftly
Children grow into adults
and have children of their own
I feel like I should still be in my twenties,
not well over fifty.
Flies
Flies are dependant on me for
strawberry milk. I’m more reliable than
their family at
strawberry milk management.
Minutes, they fall like leaves in Autumn
Scattering wherever they please
Once vibrant, fresh, now limp, lost
Each second, they danced
Their tune, a whisper
In youth lasted
Forever
But now
Gone
fast
feisty
frolicking
bold beautiful
brilliant butterfly
flitting flying freely
buzzing beyond beautiful
bypassing basic blue borders
zealously zipping and zigzagging
frantically finding forever after
A fly that always evades us.
We are in a rush.
With no time to kill a fly.
One that is already about to die.
So we leave it to land on the sink.
We leave the house to get away and think.
Flys, wasps, and other horrible things.
Are what the outdoors seem to bring.
We always get a swarm.
Which happens when it’s warm.
Opening the screen drives me mad.
Why are the mosquitoes so bad?
Why is it never a pretty butterfly?
Why is it only the gross bugs that get inside?
Centipedes and spiders.
I don’t like either.
But when I see a fly in a web…
Maybe some bugs are better instead.
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