Mali by Mike Tolhurst

At four in the morning
here in New Zealand
I think of your face
blackened and foreboding
beset with tribulation
from time deals in  woes
that never seem to disappear.  

Forces religiously disguised
under a sky tinged with green
and red
shed on the yellow earth
sinking back  into the land
which has always been there.

A son
boxing on foreign soil
in a war
far from where you belong
in the portals of our hearts
which know you are there
while we lie
helpless and unknowing