By Dilruba Ahmed
This morning, a light
so full, so complete
we might ask why
the god of sun
is also god of plague,
why the god of healing
also god of archery.
The children under trees—
unaware their hearts
have become targets
red and inflamed
as the eyes of men in thrones—
find sticks in the grass
to fashion into guns. Some brandish
a branch-saber. They are sniping
the golden light
with squinting faces.
And everywhere
they do not look,
fences and more fences.
There are no arrows
to point the way
as they scythe
through a woods or dart
between cars in parking lots.
The miles of fence-links grow
more & more impassable
even as the children try
to follow the voices
calling them now, at first
with tenderness and then
with fierce intensity.
Source: Poetry (September 2019)
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