A poignant poem about a girl in a war-ravaged place by Deeya.
I gather pollens from the air
while among the rugged terrains- In this land
the song of ‘jehad’ floats every now and then
the air is heavy with
the stench and smoke
of gunpowder and blood
She waits, her henna-dyed hands
‘Bashir’ embossed in them
Somebody’s bringing the ‘kafan’ again…
before the nuptial song’s over
Death is smuggled into these very lands
every now and then…
Note: Jehad: Holy war in Islam
Pic from Net.