War

Dreams don’t make it here
They are choked by smoke from fires fueled by bodies too bruised to recognize
Here hope is like a forgotten thought that has left traces of its existence in your mind
You know you can do it but you just can’t remember how
The children’s playgrounds are now just a memory of a peace and calm that used to be
I have forgotten the sound of children playing and laughing
I know they can try but I think even they have forgotten what joy sounds like
My reason to smile today is that 19 children died last night, yesterday it was 43
The rubble that carpets the streets gives testimony to the broken dreams of revolutionaries; the pillars and beams of a nation
“The walls of the great cities have fallen and its homes caved in.”
The constant anguish has left my face mournful but
I trust the flicker of hope is still visible in my old eyes
They have seen far beyond more than I can swallow
I have no more tears to shed, that well is dried up and hollow now
This pain is like a splinter under the nail of my heart
And with every gunshot it is pushed deeper and deeper and deeper but still
I have no more tears to shed, that well is dried up and hollow now
I am afraid of how much we claim to see and the paradox of how blind we act
I am in awe of my spirits resilience and endurance;
Truly suggestions of something divine

Where did they lose us?

Our parents are always on about when they were growing up, “In the olden days we used to respect our mothers and fathers and our elders but most of all we used to respect our culture.” These are values which I can’t see or identify with today, because somewhere between the uprising, the revolution, the blood shed and tears, between freedom and reformation, someone dropped the baton. Our culture hasn’t slowly withered out of our way of life like the seamless transition between day and night. We willingly let it happen, we let our culture lose meaning and its place in the home and we became castaways in the world. We lost what made us who we were and became hollow reflections of something that used to be beautiful.
Now we are scavenging through life, seeking to pick up the few remnants of a culture we have only heard of. We are taking back what was never given to us, trying to silence this question for the next generation…
(Picture by Philip Blenkinsop)