It’s looking quite forlorn now
The larder shelves are bare
There’s a rocket in my kitchen
And my kitchen isn’t there
-:-
He doesn’t want the kitchen
That father carved in wood
He only wants its ruin
And the land on which it stood
-:-
My children went outside to play
And found his cluster bombs
All brightly decked with spirals
To reckon all our wrongs
-:-
He speaks another language
Not Russian – that we share
But one that more than has enough
Yet steals my very air
-:-
I was a pin upon his map
A million of us were
But now the dust above the ground
Is all the wind can bear
-:-
There’s a rocket in my kitchen
And my kitchen isn’t there
Nor my children nor my father
There’s just remembering air
-:-
So breathe me and absorb these words
Remember what we were
And hold our home and family
Within a heart not scared to care.
-:-
©Copyright Stephen Tanham, 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
Lovely poem