THE SLAUGHTER IN THE RUINS

I have not read the news yet today.

I've read novels and poems and I've

written poems, avoiding the deaths

that have been carved in my name

also in the flesh of humanity - as

the genocidaires claim to do their

daily butchering for the sake of

'Western civilization'. So, still hiding

from reality, sitting before an open

window at my computer table, a pile

of books teetering threateningly beside

a mug of hot coffee from I which sip;

the front door being open, a slight

breeze, invited, goes through as I

drink my coffee, thinking of the poem

I'm going to translate but it can't

hide the slaughter in the ruins,

that end-note to an older genocide.

14.08.2024

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