Grass On My Father's Grave Poem by Ida Mustazir
Grass On My Father's Grave
And then I took the scissor
And started to crop a tiny area
They grew strong and lush
Soiled and nourished
by the decaying body down there
And then I handed the scissor to my sister
to escape from the charge of guilt and devotion
But she told me that grasses need to die
Because they need to regenerate
(March 2009)
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
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4/18/2024 1:18:44 PM # 1.0.0.1119
