Mother's Milk Poem by Ibn Ali

Mother's Milk



He'll no longer taste his mother's milk
His blood stained teeth will wean him now
That metallic tinge
He knows it well
His rubbled rebels
Ghosts in the glass
We watch and pass
So quickly we forget
Those foreign folk and all their deaths
They might still come to haunt us yet

Thursday, November 16, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: war
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