As children they grew up together,

Bonded by friendship so deep

The passage to love was marked

By effortless consummation.

Their love was godly.

Fate  forged shackles with no key.

But  families fractured;

Communities convulsed;

Countries disintegrated.

Upon great tables in small rooms

Politics scissored  flags – land – people -

 And stitched up new nations.

The flags flapped smartly as flags must do.

The sodden land sighed darkly.

The people reacted madly and fought fiercely,

Unsure where bonds of brotherhood drew the line -

If  bonds of brotherhood could draw a line.

The strong bones of  tradition crumbled,

Scuttled into shallow graves,

Prey to the dogs of war and the wolves of commerce.

The people were manic, their hearts unhinged.

In blind aggression they surged against each other,

And counted not who was the foe.

Weapons cracked, bombs exploded, knives flashed,

Flooding steamy pools of blood

In busy markets and hothouse hotels,

Through dancing streets and crowded queues,

In restless bedrooms and tousled cribs -

Everywhere.

Vengeance was the only balm.

And then, one day, as people ran like rats,

With fate’s brutal clarity

Two contorted faces faltered,

Glazed eyes blazing into recognition.

The frantic crowd dissolved to nothing

As the lovers fell upon each other’s breast.

Around them bodies swarmed, and screamed,

And crushed them - in a locked embrace,

Their lips tasting only deathless joy,

Their eyes seeing only the last exultant look

Of the Beloved.

 Cynthia Buell Thomas