Acrid vestige
Smoke cloaked carnage
Hell’s residue remarks the ruins
Eyes blink open to reality
Souls burned, broken, buried, blown to acuity
Ages’ cinders
Never blow clean
Death-soaked soil germinates its filthy seed
Divided from the first jealousy
Until the final trump
Shocked streets in a
Time without pity.
Illustration: Photo by N. S. M., Iraq, 2003
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