Palestinian Painter
Two birds
leave their nest,
singing a song, perhaps
for the artist working
in what used to be
a well-kept old garden.
He’s painting a new house,
even a new garden.
Without shrapnel,
without twisted metal beams,
without broken bricks and loose electrical wires.
But then I see him hesitate,
looking at a headless doll
lying in the rubble.
I’m wondering if he’ll paint it
as part of the new house and the resurrected garden.
It might destroy
its harmony.
It might disturb
visitors from abroad.
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