Nathalie Handal

French / Palestinian / American
Nathalie Handal
French / Palestinian / American
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War

A cup of empty messages in a room of light,
light that blinds & blinded men lined up
the young are unable to die peacefully, I hear a man say.

All is gone: the messy hair of boys, their smile,
the pictures of ancestors, the stories of spirits,
the misty hour before sunrise
when the fig trees await the small hands of a child.

Now the candles have melted
and the bells of the church
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Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: war
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