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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