A Poet Talks To His Unborn Grandkids Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

My country was so pleasant, a habitation in heaven,
geraniums, jasmines, serenades, dates for lovers,
our hands were created to create and hug people,
we laughed at our faults, kept silent when we won,
the rain was star-sent, the neighbourhood a feast,
the angels, kids and snakes protected our houses,
the father instead of mourning his hero son, he run
with raffle and cross of life to continue the son’s strife.

Suddenly, unborn grandkids, everything disfigured,
banks and hyenas invaded your house, alas,
bulldozers broke the dolls, ruined the garden
no fruits, flowers, crops have been saved for you,
with no milk, you’ll be born underweight; I was inert
in the night the predator digged the prison and escaped,
one day perhaps you find your house ruined by bombs*.
smoke may rush in your crib to take away your breath
oh, whoever survives don’t listen to me, keep away,
being corrupted I destroyed and dissolved my beauty;
build up a new nest, away from the waters I polluted.

Greedily I have eaten the chocolates they gave me,
now me an old man I enjoy slowly the few remaining,
few, such as my hours and my soul-mate friends,
for empty and foolish I no longer have time or tolerance.

Onward grandchildren: oxygen, soil, hold the flag
generate a sweet home from the body of truth.


© JosephJosephides