As the cantabile lyrics,of eternal prophets
lull the moon’s breath from the tide,
And your eyes soak up
calligraphic strokes,
Know that there are children,
denied the blush of soft brushes on papyrus
Cold rain drops on closed eye-lids.
Because frantic soldiers
Are arresting eyes.

In these lands there are
No reading lessons in the stark
Sunshine of the afternoons
Beneath the peaceful canopy
Of a freshly built schoolhouse
Because the pockets of another country
Are too dilated from the bombs
To stop now.
The dollar signs in their eyes
Spill into the soul, black-hole
Like oil.

As the gleaming sun slowly fades like hope
In those small white chinks of a child’s eyes.