I found a femur today
under what used to be my home.
It was there
like a misplaced tool,
I have a feeling it belongs to my dad
though I haven't studied forensic medicine.
Love makes its own identifications.
My friend found a chipped vertebra
sifting through concrete,
it reminded me of a show
where kids at a shore search for shells.
It's his baby sister's.
I took a plastic bag
and went to the mound I had dug,
a small square of earth
I am trying to turn
into a destination.
Time is limited,
sirens will start the day
and set the rules.
People keep sending toys,
bright plastic things
meant for a childhood
that doesn’t live here anymore.
What we need
is machinery that can lift
what our hands can’t.
I don't know how long it will take
to gather all my memories
and give them a permanent address.
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Author:
Awam (
Offline) - Published: April 12th, 2026 01:47
- Comment from author about the poem: The United Nations says Gaza has more than 61 million tonnes of rubble...News reports state that 10,000 human beings who were killed are still trapped under the rubbles In Gaza, even after six months of so-called truce, these dead human beings have not been given the dignity of a grave. This poem is written to honor the reality of such families.
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Comments3
If you are talking about Gaza there's a whole story to be told there . To confine it to the story of dead bodies is to minimise the situation. A dead body is just garbage; the human who inhabited it has gone.
Powerful and sad it speaks to memories and people lost to war of the innocents and guilty, young and old all wounded, lost and dead. Man's tragedy fought over prejudices carried in a present generation from the past
Thank you for the read.
You are most welcome
Well written, your poem revolves around loss, memory, and the struggle to reclaim a sense of identity in the aftermath of trauma.
thank you
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