Will she ever dance again?

Her warm blue eyes, a mixture of

innocent misfortunes

are staring at the ceiling,

her prayers - hitting a deaf wall.

She never trusted angels, anyway.

Her trembling thoughts give voice

to only screaming - it’s fine,

she tells herself, the crying is inside.

Bodies forgotten somewhere,

in the war zone, between

reality and lies, are howling asking:

Will she ever dance again?

WILL SHE EVER DANCE AGAIN?

For there are no musicians left

to play the music,

and children sing

the gun machine’s old cry-

-same grotesque chorus asking

the same question:

Will she? Will she? Probably not.