for the mothers and
children of Gaza
Something inescapable is lost—
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse
immeasurable and void.
Something uncapturable is gone—
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of
Something unforgettable is past—
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or
and finality has swept into a corner where it
in dust and cobwebs and silence.
About this poem the author told us: I wrote this poem as a teenager. It was the
first poem I wrote that doesn’t rhyme.
Happy if you can comment and share it
Dr. phil. Milena Rampoldi
Editorial Teeam of ProMosaik e.V.