Friday, 19 August 2011

Land is an Old Friend

Under the dew of the morning, soil rustles
as worms make their way down, larvae stretch
before re-curling in earth, and your fingers dig
around the tomatoes while droplets fall on the back
of your hands and marigolds reflect the early sun.

At night worms come up to air, band together
in pairs, ring to ring, while the moon hides its face
behind haze, a woman behind a veil, the air star-cold
on her cheeks as she looks away from animal ecstasy
in the wet open field of un-mown grass.

Now guns point at you as you pray on your land:
standing soldiers steal the earth, your children’s roll
down these hills, your women’s picking of oranges
and berries, even your sons’ watch over grazing
sheep - sons who would have taught their own sons.

You taste the grass as you bend to the east, the soil
under your knees, your feet, your hands, the ants
and beetles crawling as they have for centuries
on the rocks that you had jumped from as a boy,
and had once seemed solid as the earth.

© Lavinia Kumar

In Israel, Time for Peace Offer May Run Out
Editor's note : This article was published back in April, although the issue is very much an ongoing one. The original piece was revised and 'corrected', with regard to granting statehood to Palestinians on Israeli-controlled land.
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Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her family includes a variety of cultures and immigrants. Her poetry has appeared in Waterways, Thatchwork (Delaware Valley Poets), Orbis, US1 Worksheets, and more.

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