So Now What? by Abigail George | Poems Rethabile Likes
So Now What?
by Abigail George
(for Charles Bukowski)
During war,
milk is the colour of blood, honey
the colour of bone.
The skulls here are bored.
They want a new life, not this tragedy.
I'm listing all your war crimes.
I remember being happy.
But I don't want to remember.
I don't want to remember the man.
I remember bombs and Gaza instead.
Amputated limbs like branches.
Here, everything tastes like seawater.
I hope I'll wake up from this dream soon
and that the man will return to me
in the morning and to numb the pain
I take the pills one by one
and a fog descends upon me.
I wish you had decided to stay
so that we could make things work,
but you never did and the truth is
I must accept that as fact and choose to live.
For some time I breathed easier
in this world because of you.
Because you had become all my reasons.
I have questions and they trouble me.
Do I still live inside your heart and
inside your life as a passing thought?
I write a letter to God and put it inside a poem.
At night I pray for Israel too, because in war nobody wins.
I pray for soldiers on both sides.
That their blood will turn into flowers.
milk is the colour of blood, honey
the colour of bone.
The skulls here are bored.
They want a new life, not this tragedy.
I'm listing all your war crimes.
I remember being happy.
But I don't want to remember.
I don't want to remember the man.
I remember bombs and Gaza instead.
Amputated limbs like branches.
Here, everything tastes like seawater.
I hope I'll wake up from this dream soon
and that the man will return to me
in the morning and to numb the pain
I take the pills one by one
and a fog descends upon me.
I wish you had decided to stay
so that we could make things work,
but you never did and the truth is
I must accept that as fact and choose to live.
For some time I breathed easier
in this world because of you.
Because you had become all my reasons.
I have questions and they trouble me.
Do I still live inside your heart and
inside your life as a passing thought?
I write a letter to God and put it inside a poem.
At night I pray for Israel too, because in war nobody wins.
I pray for soldiers on both sides.
That their blood will turn into flowers.
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