After The Bombing Of The Small Village

after the bombing of the small village
by the insurgents
some flesh still hang on the
branches of mahogany trees
some eyeballs of women left to stare
to the skies
some toes are scattered on the grass
shrapnel reigns like the
pebbles on the shore

that morning she looks over the window
she finds ripe guava fruits
on the branches surrounded
with green leaves