Dates stones were sewn onto a useless canvas made for shelter, now in shreds, one for each day of the conflict. Rows of baby’s milk bottles filled with anything but milk; sand, bullets, seeds, sticks, rubble. Some had no teats; others were charred having been thrown clear of bomb-blasted buildings.
I didn’t come in for this. Next door in a beautiful house is a collection of antique furniture, landscape scenes, portraits, and sculptures. Sea shells and pebbles make tranquil designs for lazy sunlit cornices.
Meanwhile, I cannot remove from my mind, the image of a push-chair crushed by shelled masonry.
I didn’t come in for this. Next door in a beautiful house is a collection of antique furniture, landscape scenes, portraits, and sculptures. Sea shells and pebbles make tranquil designs for lazy sunlit cornices.
Meanwhile, I cannot remove from my mind, the image of a push-chair crushed by shelled masonry.
