Buufis

A child cries into the wind:

‘Now I wait; I cannot bear 

longing that turns my blood

to molten lead.  I am absent here;

I am nowhere.

‘Stranger voices from far away

spit sulphur threats from mouths

of nameless fire.  Sleepless I watch

for hate to come, smear the burnt soul

of the broken land.’

A child cries into the wind:

‘In the comfortless lap of the world

I sing.’

Who would love me like this?

Child, eternal playmate,

Take my torn hand

And let us be children again.

Look, the soil under our feet

Lives: We have become

What we could never complete.

Euan Tait © 2020 rev 2023