Mana
Not cascading drops of life
to feed the astray across the desert
but contempt falling from Heaven, missiles
the weeping clouds pour over Gaza.
Not every child in Canaan sleeps
because their mother’s gone in shrapnel-haze
and not every mother by her side has had
at night a face where to place her kiss.
Not cascading drops of life
to feed the astray across the desert
but contempt falling from Heaven, missiles
the weeping clouds pour over Gaza.
Not every child in Canaan sleeps
because their mother’s gone in shrapnel-haze
and not every mother by her side has had
at night a face where to place her kiss.
A poem by / Poema por Ian Berger Urra. Thank you for sharing / Gracias por compartir
Photo by / Fotografía por Carlos Hernández
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