oskar hansen


The Killing - Poem by oskar hansen

The killing

A flock of white doves flew over my house, heading due east, if they were flying to
Israel fat chance, and if they landed on the Gaza strip they would end up in a pot.
Last time I saw a white dove was in 1956, when I accidently killed one, I had made
a bow and arrow and shot into the air and hit one. Our neighbour came, pulled
the arrow out of quivering bird and gave it to me, but kept the dove. The aroma of
roasted bird wafted along the street. We sat eating fried mackerel with turnips,
“why didn’t you take the bird home? ” My mother asked. “But it was white and it
might have been an angel” I said.“? Never mind the colour, we are talking about
food, ” she said. My sister went even further insisted it was Jesus in disguise, and
I had to give her my chewing gum to atone for my sin. White doves of peace with
a palm leave in their beaks, how romantic, war is undying, peace is just a breather
and festive balloons as military brass bands play.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about The Killing by oskar hansen

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Monday, August 16, 2010



[Hata Bildir]