Jan 17, 2015 Original Poetry
The air coalesces around me,
Whispering about the world.
And it’s not happy.
Being older, perhaps wiser,
Perhaps, more thin-skinned than before,
I see hurt, and hurt more within than ever.
I see injustice, and burn more than ever
I see evil, and wish for it to go away,
Not wanting revenge or retaliation.
I see cartoons aimed at “secularism”
And see them as an attack on others’
Strong beliefs, in fragile souls,
In countries broken by injustice and bombs
And hatred.
And the countries lie strewn
With lost dreams, decapitated bodies,
Ravaged women, broken children,
And a desert wind blows a chill
Despair over them all,
And the cries of those in pain
Are wafted like the smell of death
Over the land.
I see ravaged cities and broken homes
And beautiful countries destroyed,
And I weep and weep.
I weep for the children
Of these lands, innocence
Forever genuflecting
To those enthroned in power
And speak with weapons.
Kite-strings cut, soccer balls
In piles of refuse, schools and books burnt,
The children cry out, and we walk
Through the streets, hands in pockets,
Whistling, thinking of dinner.
I weep for their parents, bound and helpless
Brutalized and tortured
Watching a fate worse than death
Unfold before their eyes.
And I feel helpless,
May goodness follow the children
May they have parents
And grandparents
To hold their hands, and pass on
Tradition and celebration and the past,
May they have strength to learn,
To grow, and give,
And compassion to hold them up,
Smiling to the sky.
I wish for empathy in those who
Capture and imprison them
In hellholes of horror.
Restore their humanity,
Restore kindness
Restore pity and compassion,
And love and remorse
In them.
In a world whose beauty
Tastes indescribably sweet
Whose air, and earth, and water
Give and give, strained to the utmost,
Whose people simply want to live
Unmolested by the powerful,
I wish for peace
I wish for a world-soul.
I wish for love.
I wish for hope.
Is this too much to wish for?
For our children call to us
And their mothers, too,
And their fathers,
And all those without either.
And their voices float, long after death
On the air which touches us,
As the world spins round and round,
And their question should make us
Clench our fists, and cry out
And march for justice,
March for peace,
March for all who suffer
And stop the haters,
And stop the murderers,
And the rapists, and the wars
And the torturers and the Beast-ridden
Hearts of the soulless men
And women who walk this earth
Beside us, looking normal
Not human,
Not animals, not men
Or women who were born
Of man and woman.
Make them human again,
I whisper, looking at the
Air touching me.
The air hums absently,
And moves on.
_______________________________
P.S. Sorry, I have no real poetic imagery today — just wishes.