Big Ben & Statue Of Liberty Poem by Alaa Elgadi

Through those viewfinders,
Death sent its reminders.
The doves fled away from Big Ben Tower,
When its hands met at that gloomy hour.
The red buses stopped and stifled the streets,
The phone boxes became vacant and had no heartbeats.
The Thames river, London's master,
Told the little streams about that disaster.
London's foggy scarf was the sympathy's gesture,
The people gaped at the journalist Tim Hetherington's picture.
All the journals were moist with tears at every coffee shop,
In Tripoli street's battle, he passed away while doing his job.
He fought with his camera in Libya war's outbreak,
Just to say' cheese' for freedom's sake.
As Lord Byron is still one of Britain's brave men,
Hetherington will be flashing in the memory of Big Ben.
Liberty is a virtuous lady,
Nothing in New York was shady.
The pouring rain bothered the flaming torch,
Statue of liberty saw death knocking on America's porch.
What is more precious than the tears of that woman,
Libya war's misery made even the stone human.
Misurata was the missiles' ashtray,
One missile hunted that journalist as a prey.
The newspapers began condoling the black umbrellas during the rain,
Chris Kondrus became with Tim in the death's train.
April gave the undeniable tickets to the two passengers,
Libya's revolution was the station of those informative messengers.
History read the American militant Thomas Jefferson's page,
Through that tiny viewfinder, Kondrus entered the Liberty Age.
Tim and Chris took the same weapon and the same fate,
The twentieth of April was the funeral's date.
Big Ben removed the bottle of Martini's cork,
And gave a glass to Lady of New York.
Demise is a postman who comes once in your whole life,
Peace considers War his depraved wife.
From the viewfinder to the grave,
From life's shore into death's wave.