On the Warpath of Broken Canons
+8She turns to touch my burning chest.
I lay my hand upon her breast.
Her heart pulses, her tears pile.
She yearns to see my hardened smile.
Her shadows reflect my internal pain.
She craves my soft, but its all in stain.
I’ve lost that man, that happy jew,
He’s become part of the lonely queue.
What wars these eyes are subject to,
What murders these hands have done, will do.
All for a bloody man’s horrid famine,
His heart left unfed of love, of salmon.
For his suffering, she suffers tonight.
As our race continues to survive, to fight.
Heil, I hear general voices repeat.
Another innocent Jew burnt on Berlin’s street.
This poem was written/submitted by Divya Mehta.
