Saturday, 7 April 2012


        As the dogs of war howl at the gates of Iran their thoughts are never on the "after", the blood, death and the chaos, such thoughts are alien to them. Such thoughts are for that quieter breed, those that keep this world turning, those that just want to get on with their lives.

The End and the Beginning.
After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won’t
straighten themselves up, after all.
Someone has to push the rubble
to the sides of the road,
so the corpse-laden wagons can pass.
Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.
Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls how it was.
Someone listens
and nods with unsevered head.

Wislawa Szymborska

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