It was hard
To lift Poetry
Out of the grave
It was so very
Heavy
It was difficult to find
Underneath the rubble
Underneath the lies
Its lips of iron
Its hair of plutonium
So still
In death
So innocent
So bled
Its song
Of shattered
Granite
Its meditation
Dead poetry
Is the teacher
Of silence
There are few things
As beautiful
My hands
Are black with
Scattered Earth
My eyes
Red spots
Of shared pain
Gouged out
By falling bombs
I hold open vigil
I bring incense
And myrrh
To the long night’s
Defeat
See how the gulls
Mock the living
After all
This is a wedding
Of shame
Of betrayal
Look upon this Bride of Palestine
So beautiful in death
Would that she could dance
With her brothers
With her sisters
With her mothers
With her fathers
But they are forced to prepare
Other graves
In other lands
Alien and distant
The stars
Bend over her open sepulchre
Pretending to be flowers
Pretending to hope
That she will awake
Dead poetry
O Savaged Bride!
Do not try
To kiss me
For now
Lie still
You are the sleeping land
You are my only living heart
Within which I, broken, dwell
Death is so beautiful
In your lifeless arms
O Bride of Palestine
Accept this thy blessed dowry
All of poetry
Is yours
Dan Corjescu teaches at the University of Tübingen’s “Studium Professionale” Program
