Wednesday, September 30

My Eyes – the poem

My Eyes

Can you see my eyes through the haze and smoke?

      The eyes that welcome friends?

      The eyes that comfort the weak?

The eyes that stare back at you with   stunned, unashamed anguish?

Can you count the times I have acknowledged your existence?

Perhaps as many times as you have shunned mine.

When was the last time you shook my hand,

even if it was extended?

       Or exchanged a word?

  Or looked into my eyes – deep into my eyes?

          These eyes that welcomed friends?

          These eyes that comforted the weak?

          These eyes that have wept real tears

of sorrow

for my brothers and for my sisters,

          these eyes that stare back at you with stunned, unashamed anguish.

Can you see my eyes through the haze and smoke?

           The eyes that blink the same as yours?

           The eyes that look out into the same world you see,

                     and yet see something else?

Can you see your fears in my eyes? I see that you mistake it for pride.

When fire consumes,

         does it appease your rage?

                        Does it feed your hunger?

Does your body tingle from the smell of boiling,  rancid blood?

     Does the sight of popping flesh excite you?

    Do you feel powerful extinguishing forbidden life

                 when you extinguish someone like me?

Look into my eyes! Watch me die!

Can you see my eyes through the haze and smoke?

           The eyes that silently question “why?”

           The eyes that sparkle off the blazing pyre?

           The eyes that slowly fade into ashes…


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