Itty bitty pieces
of life,
scattered, drained, rained and pruned;
Itty bitty pieces—
of life. . .
Over a land, now red with the blood
of both
humans and monsters.
Like a god, the bomb explodes
taking lives like they're
itty bitty pieces—
of evils. . .
We never could tell, if we died as monsters or slaves.
were we the problem?
are they. . .
itty bitty pieces
of humans. . . ?
«__________»
For Yemen, a land at war,
For all nations,
like itty bitty pieces—
of war.
YOU ARE READING
h a i m i s h
Poetry. . . haimish; moon talks, and alleyed pyols. . . . homes a collection of snippets from the times I feel most at home. prose/poetry
