Miroslav Holub: Casualty


A sadly appropriate poem for our times...


They bring us crushed fingers,
mend it, doctor.
They bring burnt-out eyes,

hounded owls of hearts,
they bring a hundred white bodies,
a hundred red bodies,
a hundred black bodies,
mend it, doctor…


You can read the whole poem on The Guardian‘s book blog at


Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/13476480@N07/16300280090


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