Each morning we listen for what is breaking—
the sound of a thousand tragedies fills the air,
shattering that never stops,
headlines, a fleet of anchors tangled at our feet.
Tag: <span>poem</span>
…
Snow, a gentle greeting
from the angels,
floating, sinking –
into a silent
oblivion!
…
Cinnyris osea, who called you
when the day died?
Palestinian sunbird,
bird of aspiration.
…
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Since my school days, a poem by Hilde Domin has accompanied me.
Don’t get tired,
but
quietly hold out
your hand to the miracle, like a bird.
Look at the haunted piece of life
From being born to dying.
How that only hurts and torments us
And the search for happiness makes us so tired.
Still, we fight
Still, we believe
Still, we love
Despite it…
…
In Yugoslavia, on a beautiful coast
right when the Civil War started
mothers held their children tight.
I saw fear in the women’s eyes.
…
The African Rhythm, the women
who could not be more different
yet they lift each other up,
they complement each other.
…
The tears of a child, the pain of a mother!
A heart full of memories of a dead father!
A silence that is bursting with agonizing screams
So quiet and yet devastated with shattered dreams
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.