...hardly loving...

when their hands are stitched
stitched forever, for a century to come,
when connected, through their minds,
connected despite the distance.
their minds are one in all, in all the nightmares
of the streets lost, the blood
in their hands, on their feet;
their hands stitched into each other
their hands in blood.
are there endless prairies in far away lands
are there dreams of birds praying on waste
of those who doesn't know
are you comfortable now
are you content
your children have no voice,
they are still ablaze
whom you call home for dinner
when the sun-of a thousand years-fade away
their feet are bare
their shadows or their faces longer
creeping into a nightmare
everyday
remember sunflower leftovers on your doorsteps
remember the laughter
watch over your elderly
watch over your hands
despite all and still
stitched together.

(In memoriam to the martyrs of Smyrna)