There is a smut in the eye
And suddenly evening
Wakes up to shadows clawing
The mind with unfettered
Dreams asking,
To lighten these hills looking
Up to sky blues
And childhood
A vagrant memory
Caught in the intransigence
Of time scouring
Scarred hills
In rhythms of solitude;
Washing rains into holocaust
Of ravaged wars,
Shadows of children burnt
Their faces in dead oblivion
Singing night song of peace
Elegy of civilisations wounded
Drops of blood waiting to heal
Faceless children,
Silently raising the dead
Wounds,
Who cut deep gashes?
Will these hills understand war
Or the uncouth dementia of
Nations?
Who forgets that war weeps?
In sanguinary prisons
Or the daylight sunshine of
Rooms?
To the children of Iran
I say raise upholstery of war
To these hills of my childhood
I say love
As we blaspheme
The rainbow
Which is more of scouring
Headless civilisations