Fireworks Poem by Cristina M. Moldoveanu

Fireworks



in our city they shoot fireworks again
as if to scratch God's navel
white seagulls coming from afar die over the roofs
with their beaks crisscrossed
with such cruelty

it rains softly
like you let the wine drop on the floor flowing by itself
when you barely incline your glass
autumn falls
upon the ground of this world
to you my God we have dedicated everything

people grow from bread
from people only bread remains
half of it forgotten in the church's altar

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POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
In funeral Orthodox rituals, before burying the body in the cemetery, the priest pours oil and wine in the coffin, sealing the grave and he blesses the food and the gifts shared in the graveyard. After the burial the congregation also shares a blessed meal together, offered by the family of the deceased.

For other related meanings of this poem, see this link:
http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sacrifice

In my city they shoot fireworks from time to time, it is true, at least where I live.
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Gajanan Mishra 18 January 2015

dedicate everything like god. Men are ignorant. They may be excused.

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