By Pavel Chichikov
In one small group I saw a refugee –
A man both gaunt and weathered in the skin
And yet not old, and with the deepest look
Of charity, compassion, empathy
I also saw two children, small and thin,
Lost except for brother-sisterhood
And no one to take care of them, alone –
They were alike in feature, of one blood
I felt the deepest pity – scared and hurt,
Helpless were these little ones, these strays,
Their given names they said were Flora, Rob –
I thought I heard the magic gelding neigh
As soon as I took each child by the hand
And led them off to safety, so I hoped –
Of parents, friends or guardians were none
To speak up for their safety or command
But only words and mutters about how
By instinct or by rumor all these crowds
Had gathered in their line-ups, made to wait
Until their destiny would be announced
By those who were the masters of this town,
And by this devastation took it down
Yet were still invisible – a dread
Of what could not be seen or limited
Froze these people into servitude –
Terrible passivity their mood.
So now we walked away from these long lines
Of people damned and doomed for not one crime
A city park – we climbed a wooded hill
Then caught our breath, astounded looked around –
The city showed its grievous, mortal wounds
Burning rubble, crazy toppled mounds
And as we went anxiety increased
As if this great destruction were the least
Of what we had to fear – I weighed
The peril of our very souls – and prayed
The Shoulder of the Sun Part Eleven will be featured tomorrow.
To visit Pavel Chichikov's website click *here*
