1st September 1939

The Vistula was silently flowing Like a ghost fleeing a body, streaming Past a sparsely-vegetated valley.  While a Polish town slept, unaware Of what was about to happen. . Through the slippage of the night There were monster movements, straight And yet serpentine, stealthily Inching towards a German camp near the border. There was nothing … Continue reading 1st September 1939


The horse’s torso talks to me like a whisper, In the aftermath. Carnage of horse meat, Who sold all the horse-parts to war.  Daggers inside the bull’s mouth, They scrape the color off the paint. Disjointed anatomies in anarchy, Of the sheer persistence of time, From the minute before to the minute after. And there … Continue reading Guernica