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Syndic Literary Journal


Art of the Spoken Word


5 Poems Dedicated

The almond trees are here in bloom
a delight to the eye
that loves beauty.
Soon the citrus blossoms
will spread their seductive perfume.
But elsewhere rages the war,
the destruction and human suffering.
No blossoms bloom there—
they suffocate in the smoke
of barbarous violence.
♦   ♦    ♦ 
It is raining,
it rains sadness
for innocent victims
for the destruction of a country
for the escape of murderous violence.
Hungry,  a turtle dove leaves
the shelter of her tree
like a noose
the black ring around her neck.
♦   ♦    ♦ 
The Night has assaulted the dawn
and steals from peace
the precious light.
Silence dies down
drowned out by gunfire,
cannons and howling sirens.
Unmoved by the suffering
~ even of his own poeple~
the Russian despot.
♦   ♦    ♦ 
The storm has quieted down:
the grains of sand mingled
with the algae on the beach,
traces of he raging
of violence.
But elsewhere the raging does not stop:
houses are set ablaze
there lie no algae
there lie the dead
like bloody traces
of a murderous war.
♦   ♦    ♦ 
It is winter,
the chilly wind has torn off
the last leaves from the trees
which before were protection
and accommodation for the birds.
They shiver in the cold
but still whistle
because they also hope
for better times.

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