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In countries where the mad-dogs play,
The Ethnic Cleansings reached a point,
Where no one's left to clean away.
And I: what aid; what deed; what thought?
While children burn and parents die?
In countries where the mad-dogs play,
What answers give to their last cry?
I cannot touch these displaced souls,
Their suffering is too far away,
Far better try to touch the sun,
In countries where the mad-dogs play.
- choose your country -
Her dream came true on May the seventeenth
at precisely ten forty two am.
Until then she had only dreamt of flying,
Swooping free, buzzing the flowers in passing.
A superwoman sliding through the air
On a level with the birds.
Turning slowly, loose skirt flapping
Gulls wings slapping her legs,
She smiled and gazed downwards.
No sense of height here,
The landscape below, an embroidered sheet
Framed between spread fingers.
She laughed aloud, an acrobat in free-fall.
Clouds, land, clouds, land. Alternating views.
Her dreams now realised.
She was still smiling as she hit reality.
- another crazy dream -
My friend was Steven and he did magic
He could heal skinned knees, make me smile
Be a crocodile, or a roaring tiger
Do anything I asked, be my playmate.
When mum came he went away
Sometimes for a little while, sometimes longer
Not far, just out of sight.
But when I called, he would always come.
- a true friend from childhood -
How was it that I found you?