Poem by Alicja Kuberska
War in the Middle East
Memories like grains of sand,
during a storm in the desert,
swirl violently in the mind.
They hit hard, hurt badly.
Eye wanders around a desolate city
I remember, a school was there
and next to it a library and a flower shop.
Huge cavities in the ground gape instead
surrounded by charred tree stumps.
Silence spills in a wide stream
over empty streets and ashes,
settling like dust on broken glass.
Birds flew away, the absent inhabitants fell silent.
Wind wails among the ruins and then,
as echo, the whistle of falling bombs returns.
In a surviving building without a wall,
as if on a great theatrical stage of life,
an old man sits alone, reading a book.
Hunger and fear drove neighbors away
He did not run, and became a guardian of hope
Poor people suffer and die.
Politicians speak beautifully of peace,
democracy, and human rights.
Greedy businessmen count profits
from the trade of weapons.
Vampires hover over the oil fields
swabbing the last drops of black blood
from the tormented desert land.