Tuesday, 6 July 2010

Bitter Centres

What blooms are these,
flowering in the wilderness?
What fruits of civilization ripen here,
carefully tended in such barren sands?
Far out where hopes of welcome blossom.

What filigree threads
dance on the perspiring horizon,
flowing like silver gossamer?
A pretty spider web of steel.

Moving closer, there are no ordered woods and gardens here,
but strange things sprout:
perhaps these cultures are just persistent weeds -
or beauty rich and rare?

On this golden soil of our wide brown land,
we are surely young and free -
not even the timeless desert will erase
our high tech steel alloy
razor wire
curling through the desert like a many-fanged serpent
biting the hearts of mothers.

And all around we feel this strange precipitation on the sand –
Could it be spring blossom from some hidden oasis, carried by the breeze?
Or the bleak leaves of autumn wafted to this desolate spot?
Or is it the gentle, mourning rain
of those who took us at our word
and sought our help?

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