how do I write about the beauty of the world
when barefoot people pass before my window
in search of shelter
how do I share my pleasure of the birds' sweet song at dawn
when I see faces etched with panic
from deafening blasts of bombs
how to rejoice in love and friendship
when meeting people who could barely save their lives
after burying their loved ones
how can I write with passion of the kindness of the human heart
when I see thousands fleeing from the ruins of their homes
only to face police walls barbed wire
true words are hard to find
as said a poet of an older war
when it is a lie to speak
a lie to keep silent
not easy
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
how do I write about the beauty of the world
when barefoot people pass before my window
in search of shelter
how do I share my pleasure of the birds' sweet song at dawn
when I see faces etched with panic
from deafening blasts of bombs
how to rejoice in love and friendship
when meeting people who could barely save their lives
after burying their loved ones
how can I write with passion of the kindness of the human heart
when I see thousands fleeing from the ruins of their homes
only to face police walls barbed wire
true words are hard to find
as said a poet of an older war
when it is a lie to speak
a lie to keep silent
not easy
The poet from which my last two lines come: John Balaban, Vietnam veteran:
“A poet had better keep his mouth shut,” he writes in “Saying Good-by to Mr. and Mrs. My, Saigon, 1972”:
unless he’s found words to comfort and teach.
Today, comfort and teaching themselves deceive
and it takes cruelty to make any friends
when it is a lie to speak, a lie to keep silent.
