GAZA
-
Des Dillon (U.K.)
Veins of Lenten purple, Great
Almighty,
marble walls and spattered
stones; bitter sweet
blood from Makka and Golgotha
flowing
to future’s applause of the
Kalashnikov.
Who could prophesy the
countless teardrops
calloused to pebbles under hot
red sands?
These same stones that Samson
slung and slings still
to nearby applause of the
Kalashnikov.
Yet girls strut past with
stuff to make them pretty.
Brides with items turning rubble
homely.
Mums with bags of rice and
laughing family.
A woman, of a certain age and
wrinkly
defies by singing one toothed
psalms sincerely
to a puzzled man with a
Kalashnikov.
****