Often I Dream of the Bosnian Dead
(Information Centre of Bosnia-Herzegovina, London 1993)

by Michael Brett

Often I dream of the Bosnian dead:
All climbing from field and trench and fosse:
Their bare spines clicking like guns reloading;
Their dead hands heaving up through the mud.

Often I dream of the Bosnian dead
Getting off trains, arriving at airports,
In torch processions of scrubbed out faces,
In empty dances of children's shoes;

They cross London Bridge to stand beside me,
They cross the Thames like a river of death.

Often I dream of the Bosnian dead
And in my dreams, like whales, the dead can sing
In the depths of death-like the depths of ocean-
Great wordless songs of death and pain.

Copyright © 2013 - Michael Brett
Published: 1/31/13   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem