Ablaze With Colour On This Winter Night Poem by ian westwood

Ablaze with colour
On this winter night,
Thankful for all the talents
upon my person bestowed,
I pity the poor wretched being
with no roof or wall
to protect his withered limbs,
No warmth to foster hope,
a futile hope,
expressed alone
in Christian hymns.

Ablaze with colour
on this winter night,
Thankful for all the prosperity
upon my person bestowed,
I pity all the children
Staggering through the mud
with tiny heads
And large, round eyes,
peering above the floodwater,
Seeing in their faces of desperation
The same face as my own child.

Ablaze with colour
on this winter night,
Thankful for this precious family
upon my person bestowed,
I pity all the orphaned children
In deepest Africa,
Parents obliterated by AIDS,
Not yet aware
In their tender years
Of whether they, too,
Will ever come of age.


Ablaze with colour
on this winter night,
Thankful for all my intellect
upon my person bestowed,
I damn you warmongers
Shipping weapons of destruction
To far-off lands,
Counting your soiled dollars
In fist-clenched hands.
I damn all you owners
Of belching chimney plants,
Casting your toxic fumes
Into a fragile world,
Poisoning the very air
that tender children breathe.
And I damn you all
who’s money is more worth
Than the orphaned child,
Who’s fate is cast,
Mere seconds after birth.