And while Cyprus was still collecting her broken pieces,
her broken bones and flesh, her broken children;
the enemy struck her again, relentlessly,
for the second time in a matter of days.
The enemy's only care was to destroy
to take, to pillage, and desecrate that ancestral soil.
Her soil, her bones, her blood; her children
broken once again. . .
She's still broken 41 years later
She still waits, broken 41 years later,
for someone to mend and piece back together
her pieces, her bones, her blood. . .
her children.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
And while Cyprus was still collecting her broken pieces,
her broken bones and flesh, her broken children;
the enemy struck her again, relentlessly,
for the second time in a matter of days.
The enemy's only care was to destroy
to take, to pillage, and desecrate that ancestral soil.
Her soil, her bones, her blood; her children
broken once again. . .
She's still broken 41 years later
She still waits, broken 41 years later,
for someone to mend and piece back together
her pieces, her bones, her blood. . .
her children.
22/07/15
Request permission to use this poem