My Santiago

War Zone

In the midst of death There is life. A tiny flower blooms, Eking a life, Fragile, Out of cracks in decaying concrete paths. Living where nothing should survive.

Babies cry, Sensing tension in the air, While their mothers, Clutching them -

zig zag, crazy paving through the gutted streets,

Resigned to death’s sudden impact.

Children cluster, Timidly wave and smile - in wide-eyed wonder. Immune to their surrounds, Gathering hope in the moment, For to them there is no more. The waif-like woman, Blond and statuesque, Bends furtive over the pump, And washes away - Worlds revolve, Days ebb and nights flow, Losses come and hopes go, Enough said, Amen.

memories, sadness, hopes and dreams.