They shot our Flag, to which we pledged.
The wounded stars are bleeding.
Humiliation, pride and rage
In weeping candles, leading
To people who are yet alive
Under the torch of freedom,
To loved ones who did not survive,
To those who will succeed them.
From force of habit our eyes
Explore the lights for hours,
Observing emptiness in skies,
Where used to be the Towers.
At crossings of the blazing roads
The people yearn for answers.
My candle burns, my mind explodes
With agitated stanzas.
A Wounded Flag
© Copyright: Анатолий Берлин, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114091102703
Свидетельство о публикации №114091102703
Рецензии