Here is my precious blood,
The dearest I’ve ever had
My parents’ and my legacy
By true decree, not fallacy.
****
Here’s my scarlet blood,
With my love dyed in red;
Its white globules are a balm
Transporting peace and calm,
****
Here is my blood dripping
Out with red and while petals,
Sly messengers to hospitals
Booing out death’s slipping;
****
Here’s my blood to re-use
Bearing my traits and values;
Meaning so little in view,
But so much to help rescue
****
Some souls in helpless need,
Some victims of a blind war,
Or of a reckless driving corps
Or a dry- sick heart to feed.
****
Here’s my blood; who knows?
As the wind oft randomly blows,
As it goes the other way round,
In such need I may also be found.
****
Here’s my blood not as a gift
But human due, to my credit;
I’ll never withhold its donation
Regardless of its destination.
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Izza Fartmis - Izza Fartmis is a Moroccan poet and a teacher of English in Safi, Morocco.