Falluja

Sand blows across your boots
sharply raking your cornea
scraping your brain
arid is your heart
dry is your mouth
as voiceless sounds scratch
at your throat
wanting expression
with no escape.

Small dead hands
bleed in your dreams
breaking your innocence
as you weep for loss
into the night sky
with it’s ceaseless fire
it endows your sleeplessness.

One day you
will come home
the fires will wane
with hope
you will mend
where the earth
is not yet parched
your throat
no longer dry
you will walk
among pines
observe birds
standing in water
touch hands of
little ones
skipping stones
across streams
in joyful play.

You will see birds
high on the wing
leaking no jet fuel
but feathered in peace
you will lay down
your dreams change as
little pink fingers
grasp your thumbs in love.

Posted at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads – Open Link Monday.
© Liz Rice-Sosne

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5 thoughts on “Falluja

  1. ugh…at least we can hope…this present reality when we are faced with it can seem so bleak…but we can hope for that one day when all is set right …and once more our world is beautiful…

  2. This is my very favourite of your poems, my friend. From the nightmares of bleeding childrens’ hands to the grasp of a new baby lifts one from the ravages of war in the desert back to home and normal life and hope. I wish every soldier in combat could read this poem, and hang onto its hope till their safe return.

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