Gaza is a door
into two worlds -
one that keeps us alive,
and one that kills us.
We die, either way,
at the door.
Death is a door
we knock on. And then run
far away from.
Life is a door
we can’t remember if we chose
to walk through.
Meanwhile, the river moves,
a running thing,
away and towards.
Meanwhile, I,
the other living thing
standing on this bridge,
autumn leaves in my pocket,
rain on my skin -
the tiniest of windows letting light in.
Artwork : @bypeoni Peonica Fernando
Poem featuring at dverse poets
A wonderful sad write. Well done.
ReplyDeleteA sad sad world.
ReplyDeleteI am thankful for your window of light.
ReplyDeleteSometimes the tiniest of window of light is enough to illuminate the darkness that shrouds. Beautiful, sad write.
ReplyDelete