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The Gravedigger of SarajevoThe winter wind stings his ears
while mountains are eclipsed
by billowing silver dust.
Flakes rust his metal-chipped shovel,
and numbs his dirt-dyed fingers.
His most recent work,
the fresh black earth piles,
are surrounded by more frozen mounds.
Each unorganized row, aligned.
Each defined, well marked patch
under a peeling piece of wood.
He digs with patience, efficience
to the echo of enemy fire
just behind the hill.
Thich Quang DucMy frayed robe, decaying skin,
muscle, bone, and blood,
layer by layer removed
and turned to charcoal smoke.
Crumbling cloth and withered tissue
scraps fly, flickering in the air
and floating up their nostrils.
Breath deeper, the fetor of my people,
writhing and dying from persecution.
Witness in whisper, I am not crying
as the searing flames turn my humble
human body to ashes.
1932The roads are the color of sawdust,
toughened by uneven wheel ruts,
while the radio plays memories
of the swing-sing flappers and jazz nightingales.
Street corners are clogged
with cardboard soled shoes.
Hand painted signs of first-time beggars,
willing to work for worthless dough.
A weather-worn fedora hangs low
over his tobacco stained face.
His favorite tie over an oil marked shirt.
He lives, a humbled man, consumed
within this city of broken tents.
Men, women lean into the shadows
to disguise the shame of hunger.
Praying, in the American way,
with hands hidden under pocket flags.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More