poets tree

The Poet’s Tree

 

On the plateau, at a distance, I saw a large tree

with multi coloured leaves, on each one was

printed a commercial poem, a verse for every

occasion and written as not to hurt any one’s

feelings.  I asked for a poem about unjust wars

in the Middle East, the tree had none but I was

offered a few about World War One. All wars

are just and the winner gets to write the rules.

 

The tree, stood inside rolls of barbed wire, no

copy pens allowed within a radius of fifty yards.

A storm came, blew the wire around like tumble

weed, leaves- torn from the tree- flew in the air

and transformed into grooming tropical birds

cooing about love. I did find a pale green leaf,

almost transparent, on it was written in blood;

“Gaza is my name let me not die in vain”