Author: Mirel
On this land,
winter is ending
and I can still rest.
I am kept awake only by coffee and screens,
and endless reems of news.
As I scroll from bed,
I hear groans, I hear screams,
from beneath the rubble
of bombed out theatres
and decimated apartment blocks.
When I stretch,
I slowly awake to the world again.
When I rise,
I take my body out on the land again.
In another land,
bodies stretchered out of hospitals,
bodies on the roadside,
body bags tipped into pits.
In another land,
the war dead are singing in the rite of spring.
– – –
Our breathing is not an indulgence.
Write On Changemakers 
Lovely to see people exploring their thoughts and feelings in words here. This poem has some powerful lines. There is a US commercial advertising line “Self-care is not an indulgence” that I can’t trace or place – is the author alluding to this in some way As an asthmatic the line is all too meaningful!
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