| Saturday, 05 June 2021 | Print
Never seen the colour of death;
But yet, we observed,
In the Gaza refugee camp
An Israeli bomb
Legs apart from the human body,
The ruinous flesh intestines out from the stomach
I got to see
A blooded face,
I could not hear any screams.
I had no idea of the pain
But that day, the little girl
who holds my hand gently
looked me in the eyes, for the answer!
Am I know the answer!
My deepest breath
has versed in incapable pen
I can’t draw inline
The mute camera cannot measure
the depth of tears.
Tried to read his eyes with the cripple effort
I looked in divine eyes
His siblings and father
The bodies are lying on mountains afar distance
His mother and elderly grandmother
In the grave!
Chased me my the incapability
I got up,
That’s when a calibre bullet
flew and tore the girl’s ribs.
The nib of my disabled pen told me
Death is straightforward, in Gaza
Death is available at the lowest price
And absolutely free!
Translated by Faruk Ahmed Roni
Posted 10:48 pm | Saturday, 05 June 2021
globalpoetandpoetry.com | faroque
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