Staring down into the clear water or
squinting through the dazzle of light,
it’s a bit lonely looking north to the town.
The air doesn’t get any fresher,
the breeze is like an angel’s soothing breath.
On all sides it’s lush and sweet.
You live for days like this.
You are left to consider why men don’t live in peace.
For me, it’s not an academic question. There is no way
to justify the death of the innocent ones who
are caught in the crossfire.
Is there a lasting rest? Never to do battle again?
A few miles down the road
is the war-ravaged portion of a near-by city,
more like Beirut than somewhere in America,
but here the poor have a place all their own.
Far from the placid lake where I ate my sandwich,
reflected through the clear water what reflects in me…
but, is it me? Or is it a memory of someone I used to be
or wanted to be?
Who sees darkness from a dark place? Or light in the light?
Who has the confidence to speak what is truth?
or write down that others might see
the secrets that are in you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.