By Chris Lane
is a warm welcome breeze from the womb,
for kittens and kids a mother’s tongue
for desert life, water
for us the kiss of love.
living is an enormous void
an incalculable, unpredictable present
a confusion of choices
simply given, simply taken away.
one mistake forever embedded.
birthed in the right western polar region
given the correct politics
is a kiss reeking a rank odour
carried by a mindless mind set
exuding catastrophic disaster,
from the land of milk and honey,
and so on, and so forth…….
birthed in the wrong camp
the other side of the green line
is the kiss of the asp
the sniper’s bullet
recycled poverty, military occupation
one soul turning red white concrete slabs
an untimely death ensures
recuperation and respiratory resistance.
life is short they say
a swift second flip of the page
but for lovers dazzled by a full moon
living is forever
the kiss of fragile lust.
Death is a bitter-sweet kiss goodbye
it arrives as a fatal shock
a firework revealing its secrets.
a balloon suddenly bursting
spitting out dreams
those who stand over us
wonder what was it all about,
what was the fuss
why nothing left?
such brilliance suddenly turned
to crust and dust
by a snipers bullet
a soul slipping irrevocably away
a skeleton in a tomb
still startled eyed.
I can but wonder why the journey
why anything at all,
it was but a fleeting passage
that kiss of life!
– Chris Lane is a reluctant writer and has lived illegally in the Occupied Territories of Palestine for too long.