Aurochs to Zorra

Hebetate

Hebetate


Each day we hit our heads against the wall
in hope that they would waken up,
engage the brain and start to think.
It only gave us dented heads.

Each week we railed about the war,
the casualties, injustices,
thinking someone ’s out there taking note,
while throats got hoarse and weary.

Each month we cried into your arms
that hearts would open, thoughts would heal.
For we are those who did not yield.
It only dulled our pain.

In deepest anguish, torn by thorns,
bruised by wire tightened ’round our necks
and hammer hammered home,
we did not lose our point.

Resisting those who would make dull,
our minds, our lives, our souls,
we stayed a sharpened point until we died,
each hour, each year, each lifetime.


© Kåre Enga

hebetate: to make obtuse or dull.