
War is Bluest by Leila Farjami
War is the bluest of all bodies,
bluer than the sky.
It stands amongst its corpses
with its cold front,
its lifeless limbs wedged between
planets and bood,
bullets and bone.
With an outstretched palm
we touch
this permanent aura,
marred and mangled
by time.
The bluest
is war:
unchanging in color
under blows and devastation,
it never turns black—my heart,
or purple—your skin,
only perpetuates its blueness,
a sea of natural monsters
handling the dismembered over
to lunar tides,
capsized rafts,
and muffled underwater moans.
Motionless bodies
on a desolate shore,
laid out and nameless,
blanketed like sleeping children
on the warm and shifting sand.