The Call - To Lady Europe In These Troubled Times
This
This is
This is a
This is a call.
This is a call to
This is a call to prayer.
God
God is
God is one
God is one God.
And a song goes out
And a song goes out
And a song goes out in the morning.
And the crier’s cry
and the crier’s cry
and the crier’s cry’s from the towers.
At the lunch hour
you spill and throng and swarm.
Hot heads
touch
cold stones
in stoic reverence
where cobbled streets become mosques.
And you look, lady dressed in twenty-seven stars,
at burning cities governed by the dispossessed.
Your eyes are framed in sickles and potent crescents.
Your head is crowned with ice.
Your heart lies embedded in memories of strife.
Your feet blister, treading lands glowing angry like coals.
At once, one hand grasps unruly youths
The other blocks the east that reaches for the west.
Do not leave me mute, grasping angry stones.
Do not leave me mute, pelted with rubber vengeance.
Do not leave me mute
because
my silence
is not compliance
merely
incipient defiance.
Copyright © Carl Nel | Year Posted 2012
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