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Aug 2014
I visit a city
And there is blood on the streets;
Dried blood,
War blood,
Blood from my own heart.

Women birthed here
And died along with their men.
And the babies became soldiers and bled.
And died.

And there is blood from those who dared to love
To hold taboo soulmates in the dead of night,
And they're all sleeping now, safe and tight.
Mass graves and funeral pyres
Leave for little room in their retirement.

The streets are clean,
But listen to the blood as it sings.
Rosaline Moray
Written by
Rosaline Moray
   ---, Issa and Pradip Chattopadhyay
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