Nothing is ever finished
Even if we think it is.
My grandfather killed by
Nazi fanatics
Lives on in a special way
In a pomegranate tree
Planted for him in Israel.
My partner B has survived
Her personal labyrinth
Tossed into a shed-like place
Having to stay as a dislodged
Victim of an inhuman woman
In a southern suburb of the
New faced Athens.
My art joins the list of
Looted Art –
However I’m still creating
My art in spite of this brutal
Shock to me and mostly to B
Who tried to save some of
The items from her greedy
Fingers
That were collected over
Our lifetime.
Still I’m glad we didn’t turn
Bitter
But it’ll take a long time to
Digest the immoral grab of
A hostile host: The long list
Of valuables left to the dogs
Of the rental business.
Svetlana’s parties are never
Finished –
Saturday we had some drinks
Buffet style foods and
A joking threesome in
Andre’s inherited red cabaret
Yet black humour I couldn’t
Appreciate.
But we have to count ourselves
Lucky people
For not being attacked by
Knife-wielding foreigners.
B’s loss of personal possessions
But gains of a minimal subsistence
For a survival.
My own art robbed without even
Payment as agreed
But if I think of it as being traded
Between interested parties
The artist thus appreciated.
ART.TRA
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’18.
