Neda
From the blood stain
Like an effigy helpless in the street
Your history rise again
The marble consciences to meet
Every tragedy is a failure of omniscience
Telling the perfidy of our mortal sense
After the revolution had been gutted
By the silence for peace
I stared tear besotted
At the Tutsi long deceased
His mouth aloud in prayer
That this world did not hear
I too lost more than you that day
I lost faith in figures of similitude
Courage melt like ice on sunny day
And for nothing we give all away.
Let me live in world where alone
Your spirit dares the stony memory
Let me anathema to political thrones
From my garden grow your history.
For it was then Medea-Persia that
Scattered us like grains
And thought we were just bats
Blind and certain for one role
That by which the world knew its fear
And drove the old Dravidian dread
Before my little flower shed her tear
Before they left her crumpled, dead.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2009
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