Poem: War of terror, a woman's view in a bombing campaign |
up The woman looks Watching the hail of rubble free falling through the darkened sky, in slow motion like snowflakes in a winter haze The dust cloud covers her skin as hot air runs over the jagged rocks, rolling up from her feet blasting past her ears like a Tsunami with a whoosh of anguish. Heat of the flames warms her dust covered skin, she stands there transfixed Ears ringing with the distant wails and screaming A man running past grabs her pulling her arm violently, she sees his lips move but hears nothing.he pulls her slightly off balance then gives up, running away in the direction of scared scattered people. Panic stricken faces dust and blood covered, fall over sharp stones running past her, she stares wide eyed, at the carnage of the raw open twisted earth, people ran from where a bus once was, now a creator of thick black smog, only tires and fires remain. Her eyes latch--- onto the blackened doll like ceature reaching out from the metal and concrete creator, clawing up at the sky reaching out, in painful frozen sorrow. Another piercing whistle wails overhead the eyes look up past the thick gime overcast to see the streams of her personal apocalypse. A missile slams into the side of a nearby building, the missiles hail down in a symphony of destruction The building spews its contents out onto the heads of the cowering people below she watches from a few hundred yards away, the earth shakes, her body vibrates with the pounding of her land, like fists of a brazen husband beating his wife into submission The woman looks down She had felt no pain, she had unconsciously gripped the metal pole of shrapnel, as she fell to her knees on the hard rocks, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears, so clear through the filth, a pulse of peace, defiant in chaos. The metal protruded from where her umbilical cord used to attach itself to ubiquitous love her core was open The blood poured out staining the dry rubble covered concrete her hands slid down the sharp shrapnel Her heart no longer POUNDED but whispered she heard the last knockings against her ribcage she heard Silence, sweet silence, as all around her, The bombs F E L L |