Response Poem to Zlata's Diary
"Sometimes I wish I had wings so I could
fly away from this Hell.
Like Icarus."
NATO brings hope, the blue berets.
My angel saviors in fatigues.
They have wings
on their planes.
But so do They.
NATO bombs the Serbs, to discourage them.
And at the same time,
bomb us.
Do air strikes really help, when all of this is
politics?
Should politics cost the innocent their lives?
Because they are.
This could be you.
We ARE like Icarus,
falling fast
on the melted wings
of our nation's unity and trust.
One good thing,
this has brought families togther.
Communities of families
supporting one another,
everyone a crutch
everyone the injured.
We will not weep.
Justice will prevail.
But until then,
we live in pain and despair
without our own lives.
Help us, please.
Amen.
Prayer
"The people must be the ones to win, not the war,
because war has nothing to do
with humanity.
War is inhuman."
All is lost;
everything worked for, gone
in an instant.
They have no mercy.
Children roam the streets
sweet unadulterated faces
etched with tears.
"...a child without a child hood. A wartime child."
"You can hear gun-fires from the hills."
Help us, please.
Our lives have been destroyed.
Memories of good times
held on to, desperately.
Grasping for hope; for what once was.
"We heard glass shattering in our street."
Help us, please.
You hear our cries, see our sorrows
broadcast live into your
comfortable abode.
You worry, yet do nothing.
This does not concern you.
This DOES concern you.
"...they fled and were killed as they ran..."
How can you know
these wretched, horrible things
and merely stand by?
You divide yourselves over us.
Use us to make yourselves look better.
Just help us, please.
First attempts to restore us fail
Do not give up.
You accuse on another,
"You did not take action soon enough,"
to the good intended UN.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.
This is not Hell.
This is our home, MY home.
Help us, please.