(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)
... I'll meet you 'round the bend my friend, where hearts can heal and souls can mend...
...The first minutes after passing the border were overwhelming. Overwhelming relief and overwhelming sadness… How is it that only a stretch of several kilometers and maybe twenty minutes, so firmly segregates life from death?...
As I sit here in my quiet writing space, a much needed rain
Tapping out its eager ballet upon the equally eager soil,
I cannot help but imagine another driving backbeat of fear
Writhing and weaving its way across the sand toward Syria;
Moving upon the shattered dance floor like a repellent leper
Stumbling toward new floors and ceilings and fresh ground and flesh.
The earth has its milk to give, the people their gratefulness.
The empire has its blood to spill, the meek their mourning.
The lies have their tales to tell, the truth its casualty;
Brown blood coursing over the scourge filled wilderness.
I have seen the silent Sacred Ibis ascend in my dreams of Thoth,
Been onlooker of such wonder in the spirit and tongue of Ra
With falcon hearts trudging toward new lands under the mid-day sun.
This dream is an extension of things I cannot grasp,
They are not meant for me to reckon with or comprehend,
For the wanted rain’s now pouring and the ground is happy,
So I bestow my visions upon the beautiful people of Iraq.
The earth has its milk to give, the people their gratefulness.
The dream I willingly give to you, it belongs not to me.
Use it, my friends, to mend the floor beneath your feet.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
