RENAISSANCE

I took back my breath today!
I gasped, and air as sweet and pure as the first day, filled my lungs
and I looked.
Clouds wrote in the sky.
They told me dusk was drawing near. Soon, not yet but soon, I still had time.
So I stopped a while and looked – and when I looked I saw.
A Sun, as bold and bright and white as any light I’d seen,
Angelic rays encompassed valley wide.
And every minute blade of grass in every mound and trough surrendered, peaceful, content to bathe in early evening glory.
Gentle mountains, undulating hills of green,
Hues of emerald and olive, sage and lime – and more – rolled out in grainy texture.
Such comfort for my eyes! Respite for my soul – unencumbered.

I took back my breath today – and gasped again for you!
What do you see now? What do you feel now? Who hands you succour in this age of crisis, grief, violation and death?
I am so sorry. I am so sorry it cannot be you, too!
I long for you to view this same vista,
My sister. My sister. My sister!
I long for greens and blues and gentle browns to take the place of black shrouds and jagged grey of rubble and all that’s broken; and blood stained garments.

I stopped a while and looked – and when I looked I saw.
That every minute blade of grass, in every mound and trough, emblazoned in bright white light bore
your names…

Women of Syria, I bow down to you!
Women of Iraq, I bow down to you!
Women of Palestine, I bow down to you!
Women of Afghanistan, I bow down to you!
Women of Iran, I bow down to you!
Women of Israel, I bow down to you!
Women of Pakistan, I bow down to you!
Women of Kurdistan, I bow down to you!
Women of Burma, I bow down to you –
Women of Somalia, I bow down to you,
Women of Central African Republic, I bow down to you!
Women of the Congo, I bow down to you,
Women of Sierra Leone, I bow down to you!
Women of Mali, I bow down to you!
Women of Nigeria and your lost daughters, I bow down to you!
Women of Rwanda, I bow down to you!
Women of Thailand, I bow down to you!

Women
of every ethnicity, in every nation, of every age, every struggle,
Every displaced, abused, violated, murdered – grandmother, mother and child,

I see you, I see you, I see you!
I see for you,
I breathe for you!

(Chiang Mai, Thailand, 28th September, 2014)

Ghosts on Stilts

I hear you, ghosts on stilts. I know you’re out there, lingering in the paddy fields, digging the rich red earth with your bare hands and rudimentary tools. What are you digging for? Oh, you’re not digging for anything, I see, I’m sorry! I didn’t realise. I should have thought.

It will be over soon. It can’t go on forever. Only thing is, for many, for you, I suppose it will be too late. It was too late! Crickets and centipedes don’t really cut the mustard do they, not for men like you! Not for anyone. A rat if you’re lucky. What about the little fish and frogs? Do you fish? You’d better learn. Put away your stethoscope and learn to fish instead. Being clever won’t help you now. You have to be a different kind of clever. Pretending not to be clever is clever!