Poets of Freedom‎ > ‎Chapter I‎ > ‎

The Sound of Blood

                                         Further Apart:  21st Century Human  -

An unintentional dialogue:

Gann E:

Feeling I

I am sad.
To the bone.
Circulation breakdown.
I am sad again.
Still to be known or heard or felt.
All the same.
This is my lament.This is impossible.
This is the end.
This feeling is terrible.
I hoped to live.I worked so hard.
I am lazy it seems.Or am I not alive?
All the way.
I die thinking but I could never understand.
Ready for birth but not for life.
This is the hardest rock in my land.
My days are gone underneath.
My youth still beating my old age.
An attitude of disdain,I look forward.
Ahead of me,my soul unearthed.
Keep trying I say,to polish the thorns.
My hell shall be,my name stillborn.

Keren I:

Without Any Words

Without any words

in total silence

with a head on the verge to explode

and an inner urge to go underground.

I wanna find a home

or a coffin

or a hammock

and rest.

Gann E:


That feeling inside.Seems very familiar.
As if everything has been torn apart.
Or better yet,slowly being ripped apart.
Am I giving up because I lost against myself?
Have I fought a sleeping war?
Am I to be crowned,or was I born a king?
Did I just surrender my throne?
The answer lies in time.Inside of time.
I am a sea of questions.An ocean of souls unknown.
I don't know what to do now.
I have nothing I could say that would soothe my wounds.
I am alone.I am alone.I am alone and I will remain.
My heart will continue to beat.
My ears will still hear what they wish to hear.
My tears,they...
Good bye

Keren I:

Remember as we were kids.
you played in your bomb shelter
I played in my sealed room.
You had Santa bringing in gifts &
I had a gas mask which I carried along with me and a Purim costume
and shrinking air-cutting missiles' Jingle Bells' ears.

Once we got older, you left abroad,
I left abroad too
as I came back we had body counts in the middle of the streets
stench of human bbq and blood gravy drained to the sewer not so seldom.
Dust, smoke, black fog, stench, silence, crys..
tons of cryings and flickering lights following sirens.

People were walking in the summer wearing overcoats and exploded my neighbors
while other people drove tanks into neighborhoods and drove over neighbors
while other people threw missiles over another neighborhood.

I followed a waltz partner there- to his college dorms,
we used to stay in all night long listening to the dogs howl and the sirens follow
"Red Dawn", but then it got changed to "Red Colour".
In my mind I could swear I could hear kids from the other side of the wall crying "Red Rum"

And some tanks and other artillery crossed over to bomb your neighborhood once again.
Air forces dropped bombs up north
while Air forces dropped a half ton bomb over another neighborhood
on the southern side of the sea shore.

In my mind I could swear I could hear kids from the other neighborhoods crying "Red Rum"
I cried anyway.

We used to stay in, nights in and nights out, fooling around, creating music, writing poetry.
I bet you did the same thing.

Artists and wars; it locks us in an imaginary studio that
even the Jingle Bells' ears had inspired me to explore
the Mayan culture months after.

Remember after years.
After world traveling, moods surviving, pushing people away and so very afar.
Both of us, left with unrecognizable source of love ,a great amount of pain,
aloneness and sadness.

But when we look at the sky at a fire works night
I shut my Jingle Bells' ears and enjoy the beauty..
of splitting the sky with lights and no casualties

with all this sadness.. we still witness the same fireworks,
I guess it's not that lonely.

Gann E:

I had a thought about love and all it can mean.
It is a matter of confusing opinions.
it entails nothing but continued trouble
for all parties involved
in its practice or debate.
Love saves and love kills.
It is as human as humans can be. Love is a human being.

Keren I:


A poet without a home
is a poet without a voice...
is a poet that stands alone
and watches herself
lose all hope.

Copyrights;Poets-of-Freedom@No-Boundaries, April, 2010