Thursday, 27 April 2017

Sparrows in Aleppo


The rain has ceased and like a golden aria

A blackbird sings among the green.

That high, velvet trill of nature’s innocence

Caresses my mind and slowly

Pushes away a congregation of anxieties.

Did blackbirds sing in Mosul once?

Did Aleppo sparrows chirp between the shells?

Did not just one grain of Kabul sand

Outweigh my cushioned western worries?

Blackbird, caress my conscience.

We are the victims of geography

Pollen, history’s scattered humanity ill-fated

Cold beneath hate’s stars,

Burning in the sun’s misunderstanding

Terror and complacency, so many miles apart

The blackbird’s song reminds me that

Those of us bereft of Holy Books can only listen

Beyond sweet avian notes like windblown blossom

Our vocation, voyeurs of remote violence

Becomes another shameful occupation.

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