The Last Word

Like petrified beaks
these stones gape,
in ceaseless hunger.
Silently begging
from a heedless heaven.

A ragged grid
lacerates the soil,
into parcels of death.
That bloomed and rotted,
season on season.

An ancient world,
an eloquent tongue
and a powerless people
quietly withered
and went away.

Now vernacular walls
raise the new temple
of commerce and art.
The perfect tart
For passing trade.

A blue flag of convenience
floats above this place
where it is impolite
To mention the
…............. (index finger covers lips)