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