It is here,
where two bitter rivals once declared a truce.
Digging into their permanent trenches,
they put down their weapons long ago,
nonchalantly resigned to a treaty
neither of them care for anymore.
Because this is where the sea gave up trying,
leaving its last breath on the shore.
This is where the land became liquid,
breaking itself down into helpless grains.
It is here
in this no man’s land,
where refugees have eeked out an existence.
Where the birds draw halos in the sky,
where I can hear my blood whisper
as it circles round and round like the birds,
wondering how long the truce will last.
George is an author, researcher, podcaster, chemist, molecular biologist and food scientist. You can follow him on Twitter @99blackbaloons , listen to his Spotify podcast George reads George, join his mailing list, or enjoy his books
George Tsakraklides 
Dear George, I like your writings, that’s why I subscribed, but I have some problems with your poetry. As strong as it is in words, as little does it give a hint to the reader in which of your worlds you are when you write them. Any meaning or understanding vanishes if there is no hint somewhere, with a word, an emotion or a fact. Thanks, nevertheless. Wilhelm
Thank you for the comment. I’m always happy to answer any questions. I can respond tomorrow on this specific poem as I don’t want to ruin it for the other readers! The two worlds of the poem should be easy in my view to guess.