Saturday, March 23, 2019

Christchurch 2019

the crescent moon
is tear shaped.
Words of purity stilled
on martyrs' lips.

And the clouds whisper:
In the name of God,
the compassionate and the merciful.

Looking up from our phones
we find ourselves lost
Mountains dark and menacing
Soft white speckling
and the icy kiss of snow
pink frost and the crunch
of shattered crystal
under boots marching
in the moonlight.

And slowly it dawns
on a world we thought
buried in the library.
We have blundered again
into Akhmatova's dark valley.

Signs, not wonders.
Yield curves inverting;
deadlines looming,
tweets incoherent.

In nothing we trust.

And the stars say
there is no god, but God.

Slippery, the invisible hand
picks workers pockets 
in Philadelphian bars.
Birmingham, Budapest, Paris, Munich.
Robbed workers, clutch their
pride in cold dead hands that
would make them great again.

And when all the guns fall silent
cities riddled hulks
Women and children
Huddled in camps
lives of tears, and all 
that is left of hope 
in a plastic bucket
who is to blame?

Oh Christians
I say unto you
the second greatest Commandment is
you shall love your neighbor as yourself.

TV smiles 
assured of certain certainies.
Israel, Turkey, Saudi, Russia,
America, Hungary, Syria, Iran.
Criminal politicians
Orchestrators of hate,
Dividers of humanity.

Poison data
licks like fires
burning minds
in social mires.

And those who reject Our messages and turn away from them haughtily these are the companions of the Fire; and they shall abide in it.

There can be no victory without love
and those without love can win
but hatred and fire.

For he said:
"I refuse to accept the view 
that mankind is so tragically 
bound to the starless midnight 
of racism and war 
that the bright daybreak 
of peace and brotherhood 
can never become a reality."

And he said
"Hello, brother".

Speak not of those who are slain in God's way as dead. Nay, (they are) alive, but you perceive not.

So be it.