The Eater of Dates (poem)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

A commentary on love and war centered in the Middle East.

if the men with the split teeth

hunched, moving their wares

heard the red cracks of rifle fire

bullets and percussion bombers

ripping and rending the tents

spraying sand, white robes shaken

in a whistle of death

they could only hear

the daily chants, in minarets and mosques

prayer rugs to deafen the screams

of innocent children scrambling

terrified confusion of cots

a thousand years in the desert

their caked statues, like fingers

pointed to the place of God

we’re going to die, we’re going to die

in a stinking bath of blood and oil

we held our dear children, held

we cannot breathe, we cannot breathe

providence has bolted the doors

our goods destroyed, our hearts

in pierced shots, murder and savagery

war planes, wiping our simple life

our veiled faces, turned aside

poorness in our veins,

blood bibles stained with tears

wounds of hatred, skeins of misunderstanding

peoples, peoples, a vex of cultures

churning in a bowl, a soup of flesh

we cannot run, our legs are aching

in the blood surge and woundings

clutch our sacred books, our hopes

like those of any other people

an old man with shadowed face

in robes, has bent in the market stands

picked carefully from the produce

a date, a moment, perhaps

two thousand years old

split the date in his teeth

waved briefly his hand

eyes upturned, he smiled

to the quiet passage of birds

you move above us

you move within us

chewing the sweet date

he leant to his neighbor

with a gentle touch of the shoulder

his heart enrichened now

and went quietly on his way



Submitted: October 18, 2020

© Copyright 2020 Ron Micci. All rights reserved.

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