by Caroline Morgan Di Giovanni

 

We cry for bread

And you give us stones.

These are the words in the desert

where the wind blows sand into

everything

 

Walking in a long line

under the blazing sun

mirages shimmer

till we disappear

bent in the refracted light

 

Time has no significance here.

 

Was there ever a roof over our heads,

a home with tapestry and carpets

from the wedding feast,

and a new life started,

vibrant with hope?

 

A mouth gritty with dust

cannot swallow

cannot speak, nor kiss,

nor even pray

 

Can any kind of god

hear these whispers and groans?

We cry for bread

And you give us…bombs.