Each morning she sweeps leaves from the coral sand.
Hijab.
We lie, flesh reddening, in sybaritic silence.
Haraam.
The beach must be cleansed.
Hijab.
We eat the fruit that poisons Eden.
Haraam.
The sand must be pure.
Hijab.
Noon brings the call to prayer as we sip our beer.
Haraam.
Sweep the beach clean.
Hijab.
Would she sweep us from paradise?
Haraam.
(c) 2012 Woodgrange
Monday 4 June 2012
Monday 7 May 2012
Blast
A reflection on the bombing of the Cafe Argana, Marrakesh, on the 28th of April 2011.
Life is noise and death is silent.
The instant crack stops the crowd's murmur
and the now quiet air is tainted
with the bomb's exhausted breath.
The crowd, at first exhaled in fear,
is sucked back with curiosity.
We shelter in a lamp shop.
The dead sit like mannequins at their cafe tables
backlit by flame,
a scene from Hell's tea room,
and the people raise their right arms
and salute them with the clicking of camera phones.
Click, click, click.
The rest is silence.
Copyright (c) Woodgrange December 2011
Friday 4 May 2012
Flying foxes
At dusk the waking fruit bats
spread their leathery wings
and form the Gothic dream shapes
of dark imaginings.
Ironic shadows bring to sight
what brazen daylight hides,
and through our fearful child-made minds
the flying foxes glide.
Copyright (c) Woodgrange April 2012
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