My body parts are scattered.
on the asphalt The hand fell.
On the ruins of a neighbor's house.
Your foot rests on a burning tent.
And my head was spinning.
under a horse-drawn carriage. I want to get up to collect.
your body parts and bury them,
But I can't find my hands, it's getting dark.
And I lost my sight. And yet I still feel.
The weight of darkness.
I still hear the angel of death.
Collecting my dismembered soul.
And I still feel cold at night.
bury me tonight
O angel of life! Mossad Abu Toha, Palestinian poet and writer.