Glue: another poem



Did you ever break

Something you could not lose,

Did you ever make

Something you could not use?

Do you know the frame

The one atop our hearth,

The one we left behind

When our ‘palace’ kissed the earth.

I saw it landing where

Our sisters’ dolls had wed,

That is where I want

My ashes to be spread.


You know, I heard their call

In every child’s cry.

Dug out of mud and rubble

In every golden eye,

Small hands and rainbow bubble.


And there it must still stand

Awaiting our return

For song to touch this land

May wheels of fortune turn.


Though they turn for me no more

Don’t weep my dear, so..

I found my comrades here

As every building fell,

Our helmets brought us near.

He who brings me back

Is my brother, same as you

If his helmet looks aworn

You must let him use our glue.


Our planes don’t need it now

I have them here with me,

They fly as good as new

And they have set me free.



Dedicated to the White helmets of Syria.  If you could donate to them, anything at all, perhaps our distilled souls may find some peace

pine with sky-blue and yellow-wm




I am slightly crazy and totally sarcastic, with a nasty icing of cynicism. I exude pessimistic vibes every now and then. However, I do actively look for things that make me happy, like birds, damselflies and dragonflies, mountains and of course, books. Generous, inspiring people and people who enjoy what they do for a living while being good at it, make me feel like it is, after all, worthwhile being human. I hope to write about things in a way that makes them interesting.. and makes me more human-like. No matter how many times I rewrite this, still comes out corny. I give up

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