Two Poems

(For the besieged of Fallujah)

A white flag contemplates
a vanquisher's fate...

tear drops recall
each moment of blitzhrieg
each hour of raining fragment...

but what's a white flag
to children washed
with their blood?

to sorrowing women
wailing upon fleshed bits
on stricken playground?

to once valiant men
burying their severed limbs
before their final rites?

A burned hand raised
on the corridors of wind
recognises the aeon of time

when scars won't heal
when history counts for the victor.

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