“Backward Glancing on a Tehran Street” and other poems by Lynda Tavakoli

Humbling and so painfully haunting and can that also be beauty? There is certainly beauty in the souls of these writers.

Poethead

Game On

In Syria the shooters
choose themes for target practice,
a living video game of
entertainment for the week.

On Saturday it’s chins –
anything below the nose, above the neck,
and rifle sights explore
a quivered lip
as points deduct for errors –
cheeks and ears are left
for Sunday’s sport.

On Monday, it’s the old,
their leech-peeled progress
over desert skin the easier to track,
points deducted for impairment
but added for an outright kill.

On Tuesday, pregnant women.
Two for the price of one (but scarce)
with double points for primary executions,
only if you’re in the zone.

On Wednesday, barrel metal
rests on gaping sills,
trigger fingers slack
for mobiles phoning home
while someone calculates the points
but lets the stretcher bearers
live upon a whim.

Thursday’s dawn will drone
unblinking and unlit,
sheltering the snipers’
bull’s -eyed sleep from heavenly foe .
Anonymous the…

View original post 875 more words

Author: Léa

A wanderer who has found home and herself in the South of France.

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