The love birds [War poetry]


Brinda Runghsawmee introduces her poem.

I am from the island of Mauritius, near the big island Madagascar in the Indian Ocean. Just would like peace between Israel and Palestine-Gaza and terrorism will die. What we see on the media is not really the truth. There are hearts that beat behind uniforms. Brainwashed militants or numbed soldiers in solitude do think about buried precious moments from their lives: mums, a dear dog or a fragile bird.

The love birds

One bird is on shrapnel

In Israel

The other one is outside

A blasted tunnel

In Gaza


There is fear

In the eyes

She has always

Been at his side

He has always

Been at her side


The soldier about to launch

A rocket towards Gaza

Has a thought

About his mum

A tear trickles down

His grimy face

When he sees the downcast bird

All white with that lost look

His heart melts


He leaves the rocket

Picks her up

She does not struggle

He puts her inside

His bullet-proof clothes

In a large inside pocket


The Hamas militant

Aims his foreign missile

Against Israel’s border town

Full of olive trees

Swinging music in the gun-fire sky

Which cannot hide the blueness of lofty joy

Where arms do not exist


He hears little sad sounds

He turns round

Sees the white bird

With the lost look

His heart melts

He thinks of his mum

Dead-torn by an Israeli missile


He leaves gun and missile

Goes to the struggling bird

Lowers him inside his soldier’s clothes

Not far from his heart


He turns his back to war

He wants to find his love

He runs, hides towards

The southern border

Where Gaza and Israel meet

To kill


He is a wanted man

In Gaza

A target man

for Israel


The Israeli soldier

Is disturbed by the gentle movements

Inside his pocket

He has not yet fired the rocket

He wants to reunite her

With her beloved


He leaves his post

Behind the safety of olive groves

Runs where she leads him

Towards the desert


It is night

The darkness is disturbed

By war

The animals have fled

Trees and flowers

Have failed to blossom


They almost collide in each other

By the light of war

They see each other’s face

A feeling of ancient hatred

Rises within the folds of their souls

But the stirring within blasts it


The hands of war gently set them free

The lovebirds are reunited

On this desert soil


Two enemies understand


As bombs

And shots continue

To mark the sky

With pain

And hearts

With grief

Brinda Runghsawmee

I welcome comments and criticism

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