For when I am weak, then am I strong

Sometimes, I lack command of cadences and tones,

Sometimes, words tumble from my mouth like grain,

At other times words are pulled like teeth.

 I sat down by the Manchester Ship canal,

On a cold grey December day,

I wept because of the curse I carry:

The curse of a glint of a light from Elysium

Or Zion or heaven-knows-what-you-will.

I cannot sing the songs of the Lord,

But if I ever forget to sing of the dead

May I be silenced forever. Instead,

Let my highest joy be for my little boy

Who died of meningitis just before

Christmas. If I knew that Babylon

Or Satan or whoever-fucker else

Had arranged this, I would seek revenge.

But, my friend, knives & fists & bullets are of

Little use against viruses and bacteria.

 

 

 

 

◄ The flowers of the forest

Poem for an anonymous Moorish Poet on the defeat at Seville November 1248 ►

Comments

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Vautaw

Mon 30th Dec 2019 02:13

I cannot imagine the eternal pain of losing a child, especially with no one to blame. Heartbreaking. Interesting choice of songs. It’s one of my favorites from a shining star extinguished too soon.

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